


Divide and Conquer

by HC_AnonA



Series: The royalty!AU no one asked for [2]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathtub Sex, But not quite, Butt Plugs, Consent Issues, Cuddling & Snuggling, Damn, Dom/sub Undertones, Edgeplay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Gen, Gentle Sex, I got the range friends, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Painplay, Morning After, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Queerplatonic Relationships, Reunions, Rimming, Rough Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Sequel, Service Kink, Service Top, Size Difference, Sleepy Cuddles, Smut, Subdrop, Subspace, Temperature Play, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Skips, Voyeurism, Wax Play, Wet & Messy, but dont worry its not as bad as in my last work lol, but like really small skips, ending is slightly open but very happy so, heh, in order - Freeform, little pov change at the end too oop-, oh boy here come them sexual tags o shit, sorta - Freeform, this fic is way too long, well alas, with consent and everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HC_AnonA/pseuds/HC_AnonA
Summary: A week away from his lovers might not be what Zedaph wants but it may be exactly what he needs to discover himself sexually. Grian offers his own help in these endeavours.
Relationships: Grian & Zedaph (Video Blogging RPF), Implied ZIT, Other Relationships
Series: The royalty!AU no one asked for [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902079
Comments: 65
Kudos: 117





	1. Communication

**Author's Note:**

> Did ya miss me? I missed yall.  
> I decided that I wanted a sequel for the 'Birthday Surprise' fic which focuses on Zed and Grian's friendship and which explores some deeper themes.  
> I decided to not post anything until I had the whole thing finished, so that is why I have been gone for more than a month, but I _am_ back now, so there's that!  
> All the chapters are done and ready to be posted (for the most part, another cursory read might still be needed), so every day or every other day from today onwards, I'll post a new chapter.  
> As you may have already noticed, I tend to not tag characters or relationship that don't have multiple appearances for the sake of not clogging the tags of said characters or ships, so I shall be telling yall about anyone who makes an appearance in the chapter notes, while also giving a few warning cuz, damn, the porn got really deep, man.  
> But alas, that's enough rambling from me, enjoy this overly long sequel :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Grized (implied sexual, platonic)

Judging by the dark sky that looms overhead and the strong wind that has the trees swaying from side to side, their branches threatening to break off at any moment, Zedaph can tell that they should expect a blizzard on their way to the border. It is barely late November, but up there, where one of the most impressive of the mountain ranges in their kingdom is used as not only a military outpost, but also a diplomatic middle-ground, the landscape is probably already covered by a thick coat of snow and, for a moment, Zedaph can only wonder if they packed enough clothes, or if they had scheduled their breaks correctly, so they might avoid any unexpected bad weather, but he knows that this is neither their first, nor their last risky journey. 

Zedaph still worries for Impulse and Tango, despite knowing that. He stands in the door of the metal fence surrounding the little estate his cousin had gifted him after Zedaph had relinquished the title of head of the family to her, a quilt wrapped around his shoulders and the wind tussling his light blonde locks. His eyes are trained on the carriage that grows smaller as it travels down the winding road and through the trees of the forest surrounding the house they’d decided to, after months of dating, move in together. After he can no longer see them at all, after the wind picks up again, Zedaph chances a glance back at the house, at  _ their _ house.

Compared to what Zedaph had been raised in, he cannot say that it is a big building, but he knows that they still have a few extra rooms that could only ever serve as guestrooms and he knows that, with all three of them living in it, it had not  _ seemed _ big, but the thought of heading back inside his empty home has Zedaph’s stomach twisting uncomfortably, a sort of melancholy tinting his emotions a duller colour. Zedaph looks up at the high windows and slanted roof covered in greenery that, come spring, would be filled with beautiful red blossoms that Zedaph had chosen to plant due to how strongly they reminded him, colour-wise, of Tango’s fiery eyes, he looks at the intricate, dark wooden framework of the house and at how some of his rose bushes are desperately trying to cover the whole surface of the house by clinging to the beams of it and smiles, remembering how Impulse used to talk about the beauty of a house covered in flowers while Tango would sit in a corner and mumble about how his allergies would, without a doubt, kill him. 

The happiness of Zedaph’s memories with them is weighed down, ever so slightly, by the sad feeling of having just watched them leave. He finally begins walking the gravel path leading back inside, smiling as the wind chimes ring softly behind him, their high notes and clangs almost a peaceful contrast against the loud sound of empty tree branches being moved by the strong breeze. 

Zedaph thinks back on what they’d told him, that they’d only be gone for a week, that, with their statuses and the trust of their friend, the king, laid firmly before them, they couldn’t just refuse solving a simple border conflict. And Zedaph had agreed, at the time, he’d even been happy that his lovers would get to travel together for a bit, but Zedaph has gotten used to their presence. Despite the odd circumstances in which they’d met, Zeedaph cannot deny the way his heart yearns for them as he opens the front door and closes it behind him with an unbearably loud creak that rings throughout the empty house. 

It is still early, Zedaph knows, and, had he forgotten waking up at the crack of a grey dawn due to Impulse having misplaced one of his travel papers, the way the house is still unlit reminds him of it. No candles illuminate what Zedaph intimately knows as the hallways where they’d all stumble through together when one of them left, a frenzy of kisses and laughter still echoing through Zedaph’s memory as he lets himself lean against the closed door behind him, the cool touch of it almost bringing him back.

In these last few months, Zedaph hadn’t spent this much time alone without at least one of them being home and maybe that says something about Zedaph. After making a change as major as giving up his title, of course he’d lost a few friends that, thankfully Zedaph hadn't been too fussed over since the beginning, but the change itself had still affected him, the loneliness of the common man, as selfish as Zedaph knows that sounds, something that he’d only felt a hint of before due to the shallowness of most of his relationships and, in the most difficult part of his transition to a simpler, quieter life, he’d always had Impulse and Tango right next to him.

Zedaph has never liked being alone and a few people that he could visit during the week he’d spend on his own come to mind, but he is almost unwilling to reach out to them due to how long it’s been since he’d seen any of them, the move in his new home having taken its toll on the level of energy Zedaph had for going out. Now, though, he almost regrets taking a break from the social life that he’d managed to, carefully, thread together for himself. Zedaph sighs and pushes himself away from the door, unwrapping the quilt from around his shoulders and hanging it in the small closet next to the entrance. The lack of a certain black coat and a pair of well-worn, red, leather boots makes Zedaph sigh once again.

‘Pull yourself together!’, Zedaph tells himself, imitating his mother as best as he can, but he should follow his own advice. A week alone won’t kill him.

Zedaph makes his way to the kitchen and looks at the flower picked by Impulse, judging by the way their colours fit together nicely, and arranged by Tango, given how haphazardly the bouquet is clumsily stuck into a small glass jar. Zedaph approaches it and brings the glass jar high enough that he can smell the sweet, floral scent of the bouquet.

A week alone won’t kill him, but it won’t be a particularly happy week either, Zedaph knows.

As he is about to put the flower jar back, Zedaph notices it, however, just beneath where the jar had been placed lays an innocently folded paper with a faintly red tint to the envelope and a  _ crown _ sigil on the flap of the envelope. Zedaph frowns, but he also cannot keep the hint of a smile from stretching across his face as he realises who had sent this letter, even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Without too much hesitation, Zedaph grabs the letter and opens it, excitement almost making Zedaph forget about the bittersweet feeling that he is still drowning in, ripping the wax seal and turning the envelope’s flap over, only to gaze upon a nicely folded slip of paper. Of course, the paper is a faded red, as Zedaph has come to expect from Grian’s non-business related letters and, before actually opening the letter itself, Zedaph rolls his eyes fondly. Usually, Grian will send letters under an alias, since the king’s mail is always given emergency treatment, which neither Grian, nor Zedaph wants to profit off of with their personal exchanges. It  _ has _ been a while since Zedaph had sent him any letter and it’s been even longer since they had gotten to talk face to face, which urges Zedaph into quickly scanning the contents of the letter as soon as he has it open and is holding it gently between his careful fingers.

Zedaph’s eyes widen slowly as he goes through Grian’s writing and, soon enough, Zedaph is grabbing a chair and pulling it under him, sitting on it and continuing his lecture with an almost awed expression on his face, but given the hot blush across his cheeks and the shocked set of his lips, it would be quite clear that it isn’t just surprise Zedaph feels in regards to Grian’s letter.

_ My dear, sweet friend Zedaph, _

_ You may think that I write this letter to merely check on you because you have neglected writing back, you absolute buffoon, and I call you that with all the love I hold for you, but how dare you leave your best friend updateless on both your life in your new home and on your relationship? For shame! _

_ Alas. I also write in hope of arranging a meeting! A getaway for yourself that also provides me with a partner in mischief.  _

_ I remember hearing that your boys will also be leaving for the border soon enough, so, truthfully, you have no reason to refuse me! _

_ (Fret not, if you wish to be alone in this week you have without them, I understand, but I may or may not have already sent a carriage to you which should reach you in a few hours after this letter does. Maybe.) _

_ Jokes and foolishness aside, however, you might find that I  _ _ have _ _ missed my oldest friend. We must have words, I say! And I  _ _ may _ _ also have something planned for the week if you decide to join me, which I think you will certainly find… Intriguing. Almost  _ _ as _ _ intriguing as your last birthday, I should say. _

_ But we need to talk first and foremost. _

_ With all my love and very, very heated rage (of course), _

_ -G. _

Zedaph keeps looking at the last paragraphs of the letter and then looking away. Grian takes every opportunity to mention  _ that _ particular event whenever he gets the chance when they communicate in whichever way is available to them, but Zedaph still hasn’t gotten used to it. Maybe he never will.

He skims over the letter again, turns the red page in his grasp, but there is nothing more. How the postman had managed to slip in unnoticed and place the letter oh so carefully without ever being spotted by either Zedaph, Impulse or Tango speaks of both the urgency and the skill a message from the king awakes in people. Zedaph bites the inside of his cheek as he actually begins  _ thinking _ about what Grian had written him.

Part of him wants to assure Grian that he’ll be ok on his own, but the gaping void of loneliness that Zedaph can usually avoid on better days speaks against that and, suddenly, Zedaph finds himself running up the stairs to their shared bedroom, noting that a sock which probably belongs to Tango is left abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, but Zedaph doesn’t waste any time and moves to his closet, grabbing a few garments and piling each article in the growing mess in his arms before, with a shaky breath and a sheen of sweat on his forehead from the sheer weight and volume of the clothing, heading over to one oh his smaller, travel-sized chests and dumping everything inside it.

As expected, and yet still disappointingly, all of the clothes don’t fit and Zedaph is standing on the chest by now, struggling with the latch and with getting it closed, when he hears the knocks. Three little raps of knuckle on wood have Zedaph finally pushing down against the chest’s lid hard enough to finally close it, his hands flailing around him nervously as he rushes back down the stairs.

Opening the door reveals a royal guard, the pattern of the crown all too obvious in their chestplate, and wide purple eyes meet bored, brown ones during the moment of silence between them. Then the guard clears their throat.

‘Mister Zedaph?’

Zedaph gulps and his fingers latch onto the sleeves of his dark-brown tunic as he prolongs the silence on his part a bit further. Zedaph has to make a choice and it really isn’t that much of a choice given how much Zedaph had missed Grian.

After that second of silent consideration, Zedaph nods at the guard and runs upstairs to make sure he’s packed all the things that he might need inside his chest. He has the most curious of expressions on his face, his features caught somewhere between a soft smile and a questioning look, but the guard doesn’t say anything about it and, instead, as Zedaph finally retrieves the small chest of belongings that he knows will not last him, what with the preparations of his departure having been made on such short notice, they lift it up over their shoulder and carry it towards the small, covered carriage Zedaph can see outside. For a second, Zedaph wonders if this is  _ too _ rushed, but then he thinks about Grian, about his  _ friend _ , and that hint of worry simmers down to something a bit colder, no longer the low embers it had been before, just ash and the wish to see his friend again. He will have to tell Impulse and Tango, he will have to write to his cousin and tell her to send a servant to care for the house in the absence of all of its inhabitants, but Grian doesn’t do things half-heartedly, so Zedaph wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Grian had already taken care of those without even telling him, just in case, but there’s a last thing that Zedaph must do for his own sake, Zedaph will have to brace himself.

Zedaph steps over the threshold and, with slow movements, as if to stall for time that the guard cleverly reminds him, by clearing their throat again, they do not have, and, soon enough, Zedaph finds himself walking up to the carriage, the similarities between his lovers’ leaving and Zedaph following suit not long after almost odd, but in a comforting way. Two horses are attached to a fancy, metal-framed carriage that is both finely worked enough for Zedaph to be able to tell that this is part of the king’s entourage, were Zedaph to see it alongside a war caravan of carriages and men, but also unobtrusive, decorated with muted colours, the horses quite intimidating size-wise, their eyes following Zedaph, but not overly covered in the golden frills and ornaments that would denote this to be a royal carriage. Zedaph is almost comforted by the thought that they wouldn’t stand out, but another unhappy sound from the guard has him shaking himself out of his own thoughts, which are, in all honesty, simply running in circles by now, avoiding something else that Zedaph  _ doesn’t _ want to consider right now. Zedaph enters the carriage and the door is shut behind him. He feels the carriage move as the guard sits in their place and he hears the sound they make to prompt the horses into movement, but the moment Zedaph finds himself alone on soft cushions in the darkness of the vagon, his mind drifts.

Grian doesn’t usually do things like this, he tends to announce visits, because, as Grian had once put it, ‘the castle gets quite boring, given enough days and have I had more than enough of them’ or inquire about them, if Zedaph is to visit him instead, but he isn’t this rushed with things.

Then again, Zedaph, Impulse and Tango hadn't known about the latter two’s departure for all too long of a period of time, so maybe it  _ does _ make sense. Zedaph is honestly excited to see his friend again, but also a bit anxious. He has been, ever since that night, and though they had not let things between them get awkward, they had seen each other rarely after that due to Zedaph giving up his place in the ranks of the nobility and Zedaph wants to talk about it. He doesn’t want their friendship to change over something so… So…

Zedaph rests an elbow on the window frame opposite the door and props his own chin on his palm. The glass is a bit misty with its thickness, but Zedaph can still see the dark and tangled shapes of tree roots and branches, the dark grey of the sky and the muted brown of the damp and cold earth.

* * *

It takes the the better part of the day to reach the castle and, by then, the clouds have already darkened even further with the early winter evening Zedaph has come to expect from the mountainous grounds under Grian’s name, but Zedaph almost doesn’t take notice of the last few hours of his journey whizzing by, so fascinated is he by the heavy snowfall that is occuring outside his window. Snow is already mesmerising enough in its own right, but the contrast of the almost glowing, nearly opaque curtain of large flakes of it falling down and concealing the tangled shapes of the trees their carriage passes by seems all too fascinating, especially as Zedaph doesn’t have much else to do.   
He could maybe think about-

With renewed focus, Zedaph returns his attention to the snow falling outside, the weight of it pulling dark, barren branches downwards, and, somewhere in the distance, though it is hard to see given the weather, Zedaph thinks he can see the dim orange glow of lanterns. This would not be the first batch of lanterns they would have passed by, but with the darker landscape, they are that much easier to spot. Probably another town, Zedaph thinks. They will have to pass through a few more settlements before finding Grian’s palace, which will probably be kept as dark as possible, all in the name of defending the king living within the fortress-like structured walls. It is almost unusual that a king would choose strategically hiding their home rather than displaying their wealth by making it as lavish as possible, but Zedaph knows that Grian wouldn’t change what his mother had spent so much of her life building up, their kingdom’s defenses, not when he can show all of his good taste with the inside that, as Zedaph remembers, almost vividly, outshines anything Zedaph had ever seen. A grand feat of building, all in all, if a bit lacking in decorations, but it more than makes up for it with impressive columns and beautifully built windows.

Zedaph sighs softly and leans his forehead into the cold glass of the window, his eyes following the particularly wobbly path of a snowflake that ends up hitting the other side of the transparent layer, gluing itself onto the thin webbing of ice forming there, the patterns of it enough of a distraction for Zedaph that, as he lazily traces it with his fingers, his thoughts recede back, just a little bit, just enough that the loud echo of them cannot stop his eyes from, slowly, carefully, slipping shut. It’s not all too late, Zedaph knows, probably late afternoon, but long trips tire him out easily, and where he would usually read a book or scratch some random ideas into his notebook, the rush of the sudden trip had left Zedaph packing both his notebook and any unfinished lecture that he might have used to pass the time into his chest without a second thought. 

Sleeping sounds better than thinking about how the excitement of seeing his old friend and the nerves that Zedaph can’t place balance each other out.

It’s getting a bit chilly, which prompts Zedaph into wrapping his arms around himself, the much-too-thin-to-provide-any-insulation coat he is wearing doing nothing against the dropping temperature, but Zedaph doesn’t mind, not when the soft jostling of the carriage alleviates some of his jitteriness while also making the relaxed feeling slowly spreading through Zedaph’s limbs that much harder to resist.

The end of his trip finds Zedaph fast asleep, hugging himself in the back of the carriage, with his forehead freezing cold from having remained resting against the window. 

* * *

A servant greets him at the gates. Zedaph assumes she is part of Grian’s house staff, given the comfortable, but practical outfit that she is wearing, which isn’t nearly decorated enough to be that of a noble, nor strengthened enough to belong to a guard, even if it is made out of a thicker material that does a much better job at keeping her warm than Zedaph’s current outfit is.

She has a hand hovering just above Zedaph’s shoulder, which she is using to steer him into the right direction, whichever that might be, for which Zedaph is grateful because he is still all too confused by the palace’s layout, despite having been here often enough that he should have, by now, memorised at least some of the placements of the room he is usually assigned. Her pace is swift, but not hurried. She is talking about something, too, the smile on her lips making Zedaph’s own features morph into a tired smile of his own, but his brain is not quite functioning yet, the buzz from being awakened so suddenly and led about the large hallways ringing in his ears.

Eventually, she stops in front of a giant door that Zedaph recognises as the entrance to Grian’s rooms and, for a second, confusion registers in his brain. He is usually sleeping in the guest room besides the king’s apartment, but the question is answered before Zedaph has time to gather his wits about him and even open his mouth.

‘His Majesty wanted you in his rooms. He will be here shortly, after he has ended the meeting with the foreign affairs representative. Please make yourself comfortable, my lord!’

Zedaph gives her a friendly grin, biting his tongue and wincing slightly when she calls him ‘lord’, but he knows it must look crooked, what with half of his face still being asleep. Despite that, she just bows her head, a gesture which Zedaph mirrors, and walks away with a bounce in her step. Zedaph is left alone in front of the enormous double doors and he holds his breath before reaching out with a tightly curled fist with the intention to knock, before remembering that no one is inside. Zedaph looks at the hallway the servant had led him down and sighs, rubbing at his eyes with his still in the air fist, hoping to get some of his sleepiness out of his system before Grian returns.

After a few more seconds of just sitting there, Zedaph does push the door open and he almost doesn’t expect the easy and  _ quiet _ way the door moves, the grandness of it seeming all too imposing to be so silent. Zedaph realises, after a moment of thought, that the whole castle is quiet and he cannot help but remember his last visit here, the masquerade, the orchestra,  _ all _ of the noises he’d heard that night and, with a flushed face and hurried movements, Zedaph slips into Grian’s rooms, finally stepping into a place he cannot get lost in. Not too much, at least.

The lights are off and, with the exception of a lone candle burning on one of the nightstands on the side of the bed, there is nothing lighting up the outstretched shadows, especially with the curtains covering the long windows as they are, the dark, heavy material concealing the snowy landscape from view and the lights inside the castle from any outsiders that do not know where to look in order to find the residence of the king.

But Zedaph doesn’t focus on that, instead he notices that his chest had already been brought up and he thinks another guard or a servant must have reached Grian’s rooms before him using one of the smaller, but hidden passages that only the staff use. It is placed next to the almost intimidatingly large bed that lays in the middle of the room, the canopy above it made up of fine silks and hanging threads of beads and crystals that Zedaph knows would glisten even more beautifully, given more light.

Zedaph would probably claim that he doesn’t immediately zero in on the bed, but there is no one here to spin the truth for, so it isn’t too hard to admit to himself that the thick mattress looks cozy and that the blankets and duvets nicely folded on it are all too alluring, promising a good night's rest, even if Zedaph shakes his head and moves his gaze to one of the large armchairs sat next to the bed, a piece of furniture that would be more fitting at the desk Zedaph knows Grian has in the corner of his room, but which is too dark to see right now.

Zedaph doesn’t even check the chest for his belongings, doesn’t even mind the chill in the air, not when he takes note of a beautiful, albeit a bit thin quilt placed on one of the chair’s armrests. It’s almost like his feet move without him and, soon enough Zedaph lets himself fall onto the armchair with nothing other than a deep sigh, his body heavy and his head all too light to help keep him grounded against the drag of sleep. He’s not even settled into a comfortable positions, a leg thrown over the other arm of the chair and the arm he uses to hold his own head up by resting his cheek in his own palm definitely bound to hurt if Zedaph falls asleep like this, but Zedaph doesn’t even notice it when he slips away.

Just like that, the same darkness that envelops the room spreads to his own mind and Zedaph falls asleep in the chair, outside outfit still on, his hair covering half of his face and his body already aching with the position he is in. Not that Zedaph is awake to feel it, for now.

* * *

He finds himself startled awake.

Someone is shaking him by the shoulders and, with how sudden the action feels given the lack of, well,  _ nothing _ from before, Zedaph gasps as he opens his eyes and nearly falls onto the floor, the armchair really not meant to offer all too much stability, as Zedaph comes to realise. The hands on his shoulder prevent that, though, and they push him into the backrest with a firm shove. 

The room is still dark, but the muted, orange glow of a fireplace gives definition to some of the silhouettes of both the furniture in the room and the person standing in front of him, the fire making their black eyes shine with a sort of mischief that Zedaph finds all too familiar.

Another gasp echoes around the room, the crackle of the fire distant and, in Zedaph’s brain, filtered as background noise, which makes the chuckle that comes as a reply stand out all the more.

‘Grian?’, Zedaph asks with a wide-eyed expression on his face, his mouth slightly agape and his posture suddenly a bit stiffer, but he relaxes when Grian starts laughing that high-pitched, throaty laugh of his. Were Zedaph not reeling from having just woken up, he would have joined him with his own giggles, but as it stands, Zedaph only smiles and nods, genuinely happy to see his friend.

‘I see my reputation precedes me, then?’, Grian says, with pursed lips, as he takes a step back, his hands on his hips and his deep red coat, decorated with black accents and unbuttoned to reveal an equally dark tunic tucked into the leather pants that are fitted all too perfectly to his legs, fluttering a bit behind him. Zedaph leans back into his chair and he feels the way sleep still tugs at his consciousness, but he ignores it and just looks at Grian with fondness in his eyes, all of his earlier fears and worries fading to a background noise just as the crackle of the fire had, for a moment.

‘Surely’, Zedaph whispers as he yawns, stretching his hands over his head, which earns him humorously disappointed sound from Grian, who moves back even further, tugging the coat down his arms and draping it over the remaining, candle-free nightstand closest to them. A circlet of gold shines above Grian’s brow, the crystal in the centre of it shining, even in this light, in multi-coloured rays, subtle though they may be, the diamond encrusted in the twisting metal a bluish, beautifully cut sign of his position. From a distance, Zedaph can get a better look at Grian and he cannot help but notice the dark circles under his eyes and the way his movements seem slower, more calculated, not as effortless as they usually would be. Zedaph frowns a little and fixes his posture on the chair, standing upright in it, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands resting on his knees as he leans forward, worry written in the  _ everything  _ about him, and Zedaph opens his mouth to ask, simply:

‘Isn’t it a bit late to still be working, Grian?’

Grian rolls his eyes and lets himself fall onto the bed, his legs hanging off of the edge, the polished black of his boots glowing red and yellow and orange with the fire reflected in them. Zedaph’s frown deepens as the silence lingers, but, after a minute, Grian sighs heavily.

‘It’s not that late, Zed’, Grian hums, using his elbows to pull himself up, ‘If I sleep now, I’ll probably be rested enough for tomorrow, I believe.’

And Zedaph smiles then, gently, and pushes himself out of the armchair with a bit of a wobble. Grian watches him as he does so, one eyebrow quirked up and disappearing under the golden circlet and the fringe spilling over it in an almost artful, ruffled way.

‘Don’t let me keep you up then. I assume I’ll sleep in my normal gue-’

‘Stay a moment, won’t you?’

Grian sounds quiet and that gives Zedaph pause. He stops where he is, having walked over to his chest and crouched down, his arms at its sides, ready to lift it up and carry it to where he’ll be sleeping, his churning stomach reminding him of the way their bond had seemed to change, judt under the surface of what they’d show each other, after his last birthday, of how little of each other they’d actually seen and, though Zedaph doesn’t want to admit it to himself, let alone out loud, he is  _ afraid _ . His friendship with Grian, not as a beneficial relationship with the king, but as an emotional connection to someone Zedaph has known since before he could even speak, means a lot more to Zedaph than people realise, because he  _ loves _ Grian. Sure, not in the same way he loves Impulse and Tango or in the way he loves his family, but it is the sort of emotion that is unique and that has grown over time. It isn’t something Zedaph would be able to stand having taken away from him, not without something in himself being ripped apart together with it. He’s avoided thinking about this enough, maybe, but that doesn’t mean Zedaph is any less nervous.

Maybe Grian feels the rising anguish in his friend, because he waves a hand in the air nonchalantly, a crooked smile on his lips as he clicks his tongue at Zedaph.

‘Stop worrying so much. I missed you, Zed, I can stand staying up a bit longer to get to talk to you, because we have to’, Grian explains, his eyes expressing more emotion than most people could with their whole face, one of his feet bouncing against the frame of the bad, the  _ thump, thump, thump _ of it soothing in the same way the sounds the fire makes in the fireplace are, ‘Talk, that is.’

Zedaph nods, but the words make the knot in his stomach twist itself into an even tighter mess, yet he still makes to sit back down in his armchair, before Grian beckons him over with an exasperated sound.

‘Don’t act like such a stranger’, it is meant to sound teasing, but Zedaph can sense something hurt underlining Grian’s words. Zedaph almost jumps back up from the chair again, but without the hands on his shoulders there to steady him this time around, he nearly does trip because of the rug that Zedaph hadn’t even noticed before, but manages to stop himself from falling. Zedaph’s face is red as he walks over to the bed to the tune of Grian’s cackling.

Zedaph sits down and realises just how tense he’d been when Grian throws one hand over his shoulder and leans into him, making Zedaph’s whole body loosen almost immediately, the familiarity of the touch and the happy sigh Grian lets out enough to make Zedaph think that maybe everything is fine. Is  _ still _ fine.

Grian leans into him even further and they both turn their heads slightly to look at each other, smiles slowly forming on their faces as they do, but they both notice the tenseness in the air and Zedaph can see it in the way Grian bites his lips, that he has something he has to get off of his chest. He’s always been able to tell when Grian needed to share his thoughts and feelings about something, whether it was the very unrealistic danger of the sky turning into glass and frying them with the heat of the sun that Grian would rant about when they were still young or the very real possibility of an arranged marriage that they both faced, once they’d grown a little older.

Though Zedaph feels a bit antsy where he stands, he still pats Grian’s shoulder as best as he can from their positions and gives him the most supportive look he can muster. Grian takes a deep breath in and lets it rush past his lips just as slowly.

‘I missed you’, Grian whispers, the crackling of the fire, muted as it is, almost covering up the sound of his words, but Zedaph is close enough to catch the wist of them. Zedaph’s heart drops at the nearly sad tone of Grian’s voice, but he doesn’t interrupt, can tell Grian isn’t done just yet, and Grian continues, ‘I thought you were starting to avoid me...’

Zedaph’s eyes widen to a comical level, his mouth opening and closing as he processes the sheer silliness of that idea, but he knows Grian is being serious, so despite his slightly less subtle reactions than what Zedaph had been aiming for, he remains silent, prompting Grian to explain further by patting him on the back softly. Grian sighs again, but he sounds almost heartbroken this time around, so Zedaph tries, as best as he can, with Grian’s arms still around him, to pull Grian into a half-hug.

‘We saw each other after your birthday, but it feels… It feels as though something has come between us and it only ever grows larger... I thought you hated me.’

But Zedaph cannot let that slide, cannot keep his silence in the face of the gravity of that statement, because it  _ hits  _ him like a punch to the face.

‘Grian,  _ I would never _ ’, and Zedaph means it, from the bottom of his heart. Maybe Grian understands how serious Zedaph is because he laughs and pushes into Zedaph’s side, mirroring Zedaph’s awkward hold. It doesn’t feel as awkward when they both do it.

‘Think I know that now, Zed.’

Zedaph feel the lightheartedness from earlier trying to return, but he knows something is still up, knows that there is more to Grian’s confession than he knows, and he doesn’t want to push, but if it’s made Grian feel so sad, then Zedaph has to find the root cause and do  _ something _ about it.

‘Gri… Why would you ever think that?’, Zedaph inquires in a soft voice and he knows he sounds a bit sad himself, because the thought that Grian would feel that  _ Zedaph _ hates him, when Zedaph has always struggled with the question of why the  _ king _ would ever want to remain friends with someone as mediocre as himself, gets to him, it wiggles his way between Zedaph’s emotions and stings him where he hurts most.

Grian closes his eyes and Zedaph breaks their sideways hug only to pull himself back a little and grab Grian by the shoulders, which Grian does to him as well, purple eyes meeting black ones in a way that both makes the connection between them all the clearer, while still highlighting the hurt they both feel. But this isn’t about Zedaph, so he tries to show Grian that he is here for him, is here to listen to him, by bringing their foreheads together the way they always used to do as kids. Grian smiles a little bit then, the corners of his mouth barely pulled up, but it looks  _ genuine _ and Zedaph feels the way the weight on his heart lightens the slightest bit.

‘Because of what you found out at the masquerade?’, Grian’s answer comes out more like a question and he frowns as he looks down for a second, before bringing his gaze back to Zedaph. One of Grian’s hands moves over to where Zedaph’s rests on his shoulder and grips it between cold fingers, but Zedaph almost doesn’t notice the hand holding with his confusion keeping his thoughts a bit too jumbled as he thinks about it, the logistics of the response makeing Zedaph  _ keep _ thinking, despite the lack of conclusions that provides him with.

‘The… The meeting…?’, Zedaph asks, then, his furrowed brow hopefully enough to prompt an explanation from Grian, but Grian shakes his head. He is smiling, however, a soft expression, even if it looks as sad as it does fond, clear on his face, and Zedaph can’t help but wonder if he’s done something wrong. He  _ always _ does something wrong, but he would never- 

He takes a second to breathe.   
The thought of being the one to ruin their friendship frightens Zedaph even more than it ever could before, because shame colours his face bright red as he remembers the masquerade, the way Grian had found him and Impulse and Tango together afterwards, and he asks himself if maybe Grian had found it distasteful, not something he’d want to associate with.

But Tango had said that  _ Grian _ was the one to organise these meetings, Zedaph remembers and it feels like he can’t quite see things clearly, as if a part of the answer is concealed. His brain tells him that Grian doesn’t want to distance himself from him because what Zedaph had done offended him, somehow, but because maybe it’s just  _ Zedaph _ himself that is at fault here, and Zedaph holds his breath as these thoughts rush over him, the pain they instill in him strong enough to drown the holes in his logic.    
That is, until Grian cups his face and frowns at Zedaph, forcing their eyes to meet again. His grip is almost painful, but Zedaph can feel the way his fingers shake. He still holds his breath, even as Grian begins speaking, the low, but quick whisper of his words seeming almost urgent, in a way.

‘Whatever it is that you’re thinking,  _ don’t _ ’, and Zedaph’s eyes are wide, his head still dizzy with his lack of air, but he feels that something bad might happen the moment he opens his mouth. Grian’s gaze softens, as do his fingers on Zedaph’s cheek and chin and, slowly, Grian exhales.

‘Zed, breathe’, he orders, quietly, but firmly, and Zedaph  _ does _ , as though having been permitted, no, having been  _ commanded _ to do so flips a switch amongst his spiraling thoughts, ‘It’s… I don’t think this is as bad as either of us think, so let’s just  _ talk _ .’

Grian pulls back and Zedaph is left a bit colder, but also a bit calmer, then a second passes by where neither of them say anything.

‘But let me get myself into something more comfortable first’, Grian eventually adds as he pushes himself off of the bed and heads for his closet, his movements as hurried as they can be, what with his exhaustion, as far as Zedaph can tell, making his limbs a bit less coordinated. Zedaph isn’t sure what is going on, not entirely, but a clarification comes in the form of another shouted sentence from the closet.

‘Change into your sleeping clothes? I believe a sleepover is in order.’

Zedaph almost laughs at the absurdity of having a  _ sleepover _ at their age, but this wouldn’t be the first time they’d spent the night together talking and laughing and just, for a few hours, keeping each other company in the way none of them can experience anywhere else as adults and so Zedaph blinks and walks over to his chest for the second time that night, feeling as sluggish as Grian had seemed mere seconds ago. He used to prefer sleeping in a loose nightgown, the thin fabric usually soft enough to not hinder his sleep and the layer just  _ barely _ thick enough to keep him warm when coupled with a duvet, even during harsh winter nights, such as this one, and Zedaph takes note of the wind howling outside, something that he had completely missed earlier, given everything, but after moving in with his lovers, he’d also gotten more comfortable sleeping in the nude. It’s not like a few more drinks than they’d usually have didn’t sometimes lead to a similar result, both him and Grian waking up tangled into a hug, the bottles scattered over the floor and the heavy headaches that only got worse as they laughed at each other another clear sign of their overindulgence, but tonight, Zedaph grabs something else, instead. He almost wants to pat himself on the back as he pulls out a dark shirt that he knows belongs to Tango, his almost cinder-like smell embedded into the very fabric of it, and a pair of pants that should reach closer to his, but on Zedaph almost go down to his ankles. Impulse had looked for these for a few weeks before giving up, but right now, after putting them on swiftly and walking over to the bed, hesitating just before it, these clothes that are just loose enough to sleep in, but hold enough emotional value that Zedaph cannot  _ not _ think about their original wearers, make Zedaph stop. He inhales deeply and closes his eyes.

He can almost imagine a pair of strong arms around his waist, Impulse hugging him from behind, can just about see himself attempting to lift Tango up and getting about halfway through before they both collapse into a laughing mess on their kitchen floor, and he knows it’s barely been a few hours, a day, if that, since he’d seen them, but he already feels their absence.

Zedaph also remembers the feeling of fingertips gently - almost  _ too _ gently - tracing his skin, his lips, spreading his palms so that fingers could interlace together, and he almost lets himself sink into these thoughts, his body growing a bit warmer in the soft, slightly too large clothes, but then someone clears their throat and Zedaph lets out a squeak.

‘Nice outfit’, Grian laughs, softly, and jumps into the bed before Zedaph can even turn to face him, a vision of long, white lace sleeves and ribbons reminding Zedaph just how fancy a king’s life can sometimes be, but the cut of the shift and of the pants seems comfortable. Zedaph shakes his head and pretends that the blush on his face is nonexistent, but Grian keeps giggling as Zedaph sits down on the bed.

The sound only stops as Grian grabs Zedaph and pulls him into a hug that Zedaph is all too familiar with, Grian’s arms around Zedaph’s neck, on hand ruffling the blonde locks at the nape of his head, his back to the pillowed headboard and Zedaph sitting half on him with his head against Grian’s shoulder. 

‘Ah, finally! No one cuddles quite like you, you know?’, Grian sighs and Zedaph smiles a little, nuzzling Grian’s shoulder then and breathing out slowly as the duvet that had been nicely folded at the foot of the bed gets dragged over both of them, Grian’s hold on him tightening minutely. 

‘Well, that’s an honour, then’, Zedaph whispers back through a yawn and Grian pats him on the head, burying his fingers in Zedaph’s hair even further, his blunt nails gently scratching at Zedaph’s scalp. The action makes Zedaph feel twice as tired, his consciousness hanging just above the abyss that is sleep, but he does his best to remain awake, for Grian’s sake.

Zedaph thinks Grian notices, because all movement ceases and Grian takes a deep breath in before speaking again, allowing the silence around them to sizzle just as the fire does, to echo like the cry of the wind outside of the covered windows and, suddenly, the room feels that much colder with the quiet keeping the tension in it on a knife’s edge.

‘There’s the leader of this kingdom in the eyes of all other political powers’, Grian begins, and before Zedaph has time to question the randomness of the statement, Grian pulls on his hair a little and shushes him, ‘Then there’s the king of these people and then...’

Zedaph tenses as he realises where this is going, but he still doesn’t understand how this ties into their earlier conversation. The fingers in his hair prolong his silence with tugs that have Zedaph sighing a little, however.

‘Then there’s me.’

Zedaph looks up at Grian then and the somber look in his eyes has something solemn in it, something that reminds Zedaph of who exactly Grian is, of what he represents to their people, of not only his status in the social world of the nobility, but of the power he holds in his hands, the  _ pressure _ that power brings with it, the lack of his own choices and decisions when faced with the needs of everyone else. In his eyes, Zedaph sees the imprint Grian’s reign has already left on him, moments in battle and moments in court having marked him almost as much as the scraped knees they’d get as children, but these marks won’t fade as easily, as they cannot be soothed by any medicine, any gentle caress.

‘People don’t tend to like the overlap of those images, most of the time’, Grian explains, humming as he looks towards the fireplace, but Zedaph knows Grian is looking through it, lost in thought, maybe in his own memories, ‘If they think, for a second, that their king would indulge himself, that their king would live as they do, that their leader goes through life as any other person, their illusions get shattered, and then there’s only chaos left, only discord between their “beloved” king and his people. Between me and them.’

Zedaph listens intently, his world slowing down around him. They’d had talks like these before, but Grian seldom lets himself get into his own thoughts as much as he is right now and Zedaph doesn’t want to ruin that, is aware of just how few people Grian can just  _ talk _ to, so he listens and he looks at Grian with what he hopes shows only the kindness that Grian deserves and not the worry that is always there, at the back of Zedaph’s thoughts, when he realises the amount of weight that the crown puts on Grian.

‘To most of my personal friends, these… Meetings are no secret. It’s… I won’t get into it, but it’s been one of the few things that have helped me relax, that have helped me get my mind off of things. Everyone who participates is someone I know, someone I’ve come to know, but there’s no denying that, more often than not, the reasons for our get-togethers are less than innocent.’

Grian takes another deep breath.

‘I don’t want people knowing about what I get up to in my spare time. I don’t want them knowing and judging me when they know fuck all about the whole picture’, this time, something akin to anger seeps into Grian’s words and Zedaph thinks he understands, thinks he is a bit closer to seeing that whole picture, but something is still missing, something still doesn’t make sense, and so he keeps looking at Grian, ‘But you know me. You know me and I knew,  _ I knew _ you weren’t… I knew what your mother had always taught you about sex and abstinance, and I thought I had to keep it from one of my closest friends. Zed… Zed, I thought, maybe after you had a bit of time to think, you’d do exactly what I’ve always feared: you’d think this is it, you would have seen all you needed to see and it would have been time to call our friendship off. After all, who would want to be friends with...’

And Grian doesn’t have to continue, doesn’t even get to, because Zedaph pulls away, only to climb in Grian’s lap and pull him into a hug. Grian lets out a watery exhale as Zedaph closes his eyes and frowns, as Zedaph squeezes him as tightly as he can, while still trying to give Grian the comfort he needs, because he  _ knows _ what Grian had wanted to say, he’s had enough self-deprecating thoughts about that himself, even after getting into a proper relationship with the men who’d taken his first time, still does nowadays, but this isn’t about him and so Zedaph offers the only thing he can to Grian: his support, his love, his genuine care.

‘You’re- Even if you were, I would  _ never _ judge you, it’s’, Zedaph gulps the emotion in his voice down and Grian melts in his arms, ‘Grian, your choices are yours to make when it comes to your time, your body, your partners,  _ your life _ . I would never hate you or push you away because of what you decide,  _ never. _ ’

Zedaph feels tears well up in his own eyes as Grian lets out a sob, but it’s almost relieving when he laughs through his tears, because it’s precisely what Grian is feeling right now,  _ relief _ , and it almost breaks Zedaph a little, that his friend had experienced such negative emotions because of him, and so, of course, Zedaph keeps hugging Grian, starts rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades, does all he can to show Grian that he is there, even as his words start failing him.

‘Damn it, Zed’, Grian sobs out and he sounds so heartbreakingly fond that Zedaph has to squeeze his eyes shut against the sting of tears, ‘You’re a blessing, did you know that?’

And Grian pushes him away to look at him, his black eyes shining with tears. Without the golden circlet, his fringe falls in his eyes in messy waves, but that doesn’t deter from the warmth of his smile and Zedaph smiles back at him, albeit a bit more shakily.

‘You’re my friend, Gri’, Zedaph says with finality in his voice, ‘And it would be hypocritical of me to judge you based on your…  _ Love  _ life, considering...’

He doesn’t need to say anything else because Grian starts laughing, the sound wet with tears but filled with the joy Zedaph knows and loves, and Zedaph does join in this time, with a few little giggles of his own, even as his face turns entirely red as he thinks, in a lot more explicit detail than he’d want his brain reminding him of right now, about exactly what started this whole situation, the one night where so much started changing in Zedaph’s life.

‘That’s… True actually’, Grian breathes in and, after wiping his tears away with the lacey sleeve of his shirt, he brings his attention back to Zedaph. He can tell that Grian is done with sharing his emotions for now and Zedaph knows how draining that can sometimes be, but that’s not to say he expects the change of subject, because having the attention brought onto him always surprises and, though he won’t admit it if anyone asks, mildly terrifies him, ‘How  _ is _ your relationship going?’

Zedaph gulps then and pulls back even more, breaking the eye contact and looking down. He is still sitting in Grian’s lap, but that’s not out of the ordinary for them and so, of course, Zedaph just retreats into his own head. Not that he wants to, most of the time, Zedaph would be willing to pay money to shut his own brain off, but it isn’t something he does consciously, getting lost in his own thoughts, he can’t  _ control _ it, and Grian knows that because he knows him.

Thinking about Impulse and Tango makes Zedaph ache in a way that both reminds him of how much he’s come to love them in such a short amount of time and of everything that’s led up to it, their first night, their second right after, the walks, the letters, the house hunting, the kisses, the laughs, the  _ everything, _ and the happiness of those memories cuts into him like a knife, its edge sharpened by how he cannot be with them right now.    
The yearning is still dull, but it makes Zedaph stop and think, and that is almost never good. Even so, Zedaph smiles crookedly as he thinks about them, because he does, he  _ adores  _ his boyfriends and he cannot wait to see them again. Although…

Maybe Grian notices something shifting in his expression, because not a second later, he rests one of his hands on Zedaph’s thigh, looking at him intently, the worry obvious in the set of his jaw, but Zedaph just takes a moment to breathe, shake his head and sigh. It’s not important, it’s not that big of a deal,  _ it doesn’t matter _ . Grian frowns.

‘You… You are aware that if they’re not treating you right, I _will_ _not_ let that slide, yes?’, and Zedaph scrambles to answer, gesticulating wildly, the mild panic of having to stop the assumptions from going in a bad direction flustering him even more than he already is.

‘No, no! They’re  _ wonderful _ and I love them and they would never!’, Zedaph blurts out in a rush and he can see the way Grian’s eyes soften, ‘It’s just that...’

And Zedaph looks away once more, trying to get his mouth to work around the words forming just on the tip of his tongue, but it’s harder than it seems and Grian raises an eyebrow and his hand on Zedaph’s thigh pinches the flesh softly before pulling away so that Grian can, in a perfect imitation of Zedaph’s mother, put his hands on his hips and stare at Zedaph judgingly.

‘That…?’, Grian prompts and, because he knows that Grian hadn’t been joking about what he’d let and wouldn’t let happen to his friends, he does end up finally getting his mouth to move, but his voice is much too high pitched for Zedaph’s tastes and his words rush out of him in an almost incomprehensible jumble.

‘Well they’re- I’m...’, Zedaph purses his lips and whispers the next part, speaking more to himself than he is to Grian because, after all, he’d avoided even  _ thinking _ about this topic, talking about it is even harder than acknowledging what his own feelings on it are, ‘They’re never… We never do what we… Well, what we did during our first night, I mean...’

And Zedaph has to stop there and cover his face with his hands, his shoulders tensing up with embarrassment, even as Grian’s hand moves back to where it had been before, if slightly higher, close enough to grab Zedaph’s hip this time around.

‘Ah’, Grian says, simply, with the voice of a man that has seen a whole drama unravel before him, the blank tone merely a result of both understanding and trying to hold back laughter due to sheer ridiculousness, ‘So they’re being too gentle with you, huh? What, got your first taste of rough sex and now you cannot get enough?’

The teasing tone is obvious, but even after gaining more sexual experience, Zedaph still feels his whole face heat up. He almost wants to shush Grian, to maybe bring yet another topic change about, but he can tell Grian won’t let him get away with it.

Talking of Grian, he is smiling mischievously, just as he had been when he first stumbled upon Zedaph and his future boyfriends, and his free hand joins the other one on Zedaph’s other hip.

‘D-don’t say it like that…!’

Grian snickers then, almost cackles, were it not for the tiredness making him sound just a little softer. Zedaph himself still has his emotions overruled by embarrassment, but he knows that just beneath it, he is just as exhausted as Grian is.

‘Well, I’m just calling it what it is!’, he nods and Zedaph almost groans, but then Grian shakes his head and his tone gets just a bit more serious as he squeezes Zedaph’s hips slightly, even as Zedaph looks away, his face growing redder yet, ‘But I think I know what’s going on here, Zed.’

Zed almost perks up with curiosity, but he knows his cheeks are still pink, so he keeps his head turned away from Grian, even as he chuckles and wipes a fake, humoured tear from his eye.

‘A-and what is… And what is that?’, Zedaph asks while crossing his arms over his chest, cordially ignoring his own stutter like the true educated man that he is.

‘Oh, they just don’t want to rush you.’

Zedaph blinks. He blinks again, but it doesn’t make the answer make more sense than it already did, in fact, the more he considers it, the more confused he gets. That earns him another bout of laughter from Grian.

‘Oh, you silly man, they already went so hard on you for your first time, but I don’t think either Tango nor Impulse would want to push you when you don’t have experience or knowledge with the things  _ they _ like.’

And Zedaph opens his mouth to respond, but closes it again with a little sound as his brain registers what he’d just been about to say. Grian looks amused and, with another squeeze of Zedaph’s hips, he coaxes the words out, even if they are said hesitantly.

‘B-but I… I want them to… Push me and… Yeah.’

Grian bursts out laughing then, his cackling probably loud enough to be heard even through the thick stone walls of the castle, but Zedaph just squirms in his lap and covers his face again, groaning out his shame.

‘You really are a blessing, you pure man, you’, Grian says after finally calming down, though he sounds like he is a bad joke away from laughing himself to death. Zedaph keeps looking away. Maybe one day his all too detailed memory of the wall and the window to his left will serve a purpose, he thinks, even as Grian pats the side of his back slowly, ‘But… Hm.’

It is Zedaph’s turn to raise a questioning eyebrow at Grian, but when his smirk widens, Zedaph almost wishes he hadn’t.

‘Well, I have all of the experience one might need and you have a whole week all to yourself...’

Zedaph tilts his head to the side slightly and Grian nods at him, still smirking, nearly grinning by now, the flash of cheekiness in his expression not going unnoticed, but he thinks he sees something else pass over his friend’s face.

‘So…?’, Zedaph asks and Grian doesn’t answer at first, just pushes Zedaph to lay down in bed, so that they are both on their sides, facing each other, the position heartwarmingly familiar.

‘If you’re willing… I could show you what I know’, Grian speaks slowly, clearly, and Zedaph understands why he is taking his time, because he is trying to both be concise and to not pressure Zedaph, but it still makes Zedaph’s eyes widen and his face flush a nearly bloody red by now, ‘Could show you what your boyfriends want you to know before doing what you all want to. Trust me, it gets  _ much _ better when all of you know what you are doing.’

Zedaph blinks multiple times before he can even begin forming an answer, but even when he does, it turns into a dazed question more than anything else.

‘But what… How would you’, Zedaph winces a little, because he is in a territory that he doesn’t know, both content-wise and terminology-wise, is a man fumbling with a language he doesn’t know, let alone speak fluently, ‘How would  _ you  _ teach me…?’

‘Simple’, and Grian leans in, brings them closer together, brings his hands to Zedaph’s waist and brings his lips to Zedaph’s ear, where the hot air of his reply makes Zedaph shiver, his body already running a bit hotter at what is being insinuated right now, ‘I take you through some of the things I know they like doing and teach you the basics of less....  _ Traditional _ sex.’

Zedaph cannot help it when a small sound slips past his lips and his timidness about the whole thing gets even worse because of it, but something else makes him think, makes him let Grian pull him even closer in order to nibble lightly at the shell of Zedaph’s ear before retreating and looking into his eyes once more, makes Zedaph’s heart beat faster.

The three of them have an open relationship, they’d discussed it, they trust each other and love each other and that is all they need, so Zedaph knows that they wouldn’t mind, so long as Zedaph would tell them about it once they got home, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still feel slightly guilty over the excitement the propositions wake in him. Zedaph finally takes a breath and nods at Grian to continue, which prompts Grian into slotting a thigh between Zedaph’s legs, the action making Zedaph squeal. If Grian’s ever-widening smile is anything to go by, he is enjoying Zedaph’s reactions.

‘I’ll tell you what to do and you’ll ask me everything you want to know. We will discuss anything you are curious about and all you have to do, Zed, is follow my rules and...’

Zedaph interrupts him as he pauses for suspense, nodding frantically, not trusting his words, because he feels like he needs this more than he needs air, because the way Tango and Impulse had had him after their first night had been amazing in its own right, but Zedaph craves,  _ needs _ more, and he trusts Grian and he wants to learn. Grian registers Zedaph compliance and, for just a moment, his smile turns dark.

‘Oh my, eager, are you? Well, allow me to finish… I will show you what you need to know, but I  _ will _ have to ask something of you as well’, Grian speaks slowly, his thigh moving up and rubbing against Zedaph and against what Zedaph chooses to not think about, but that he knows is happening down  _ there _ , ‘Do as I say and… How about you don’t come unless I give you permission? It will make things a bit more… Controlled, let’s say.’

And almost as though something had changed in Grian in that split second after his last statement, he pulls his thigh free of Zedaph’s legs, smiles sweetly and pulls Zedaph into a hug, cuddling into him as he closes his eyes.

Zedaph is left confused, aroused and too tired to do anything but let Grian snuggle into his arms while he is gently coaxed into doing the same.

It isn’t the first time they fall asleep together, but it is the first time Zedaph does so without knowing what to expect of the following day


	2. Public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Grized (implied sexual, platonic), talk about Keralis x Zedaph (implied sexual)  
> Featuring: Xisuma, Keralis

He almost doesn’t want to open his eyes once he wakes up, maybe out of embarrassment, maybe out of a feeling of awkwardness, but either way, there is no denying that, for the better part of the morning, Zedaph remains in bed, pretending and, at some point, even managing to sleep some more, but he can feel it when the mattress shifts beside him, can feel it when the blankets and the linens of the bed get just a little bit colder and, most importantly, can nearly see the light of the windows once the curtains are, as far as Zedaph can tell, drawn back, even through closed eyelids. He squints a little bit, but it is only once one of his cheeks is pinched that he wakes up fully, his vision blurry for a second, but sandy blonde hair and dark eyes make the answer to the question on who is in front of him quite clear. Not there had been many candidates, Zedaph muses. 

Even so, Zedaph almost doesn’t expect Grian to already be fully dressed once he blinks the bleariness away, the timespan between when he’d felt the other shift around the bed and get up and now seeming almost too short for the complex ensemble Grian is wearing.    
Zedaph has to sit up in bed and rub at his eyes a little bit, cracking his back slightly and stretching his arms over his head, before he gets the full view of the embroidered deep red shirt on Grian, the sleeves of it ribboned and highly decorated, laces making the whole look almost  _ too _ complicated with the way they snake up the sides of his torso, up his arms, even running right up to Grian’s neck and, with all of the tight patterns of the silk laces and the little eyelets of the shirt alone, Zedaph almost has to wonder what kind of magic Grian is using here. The pants Grian is wearing are similar to the ones he’d worn the day before, but his boots don’t quite reach as high as yesterday’s, hugging his ankles rather than his knees, but what truly makes the whole outfit as grand as it is, in the end, is the cape pinned to one shoulder by a bird-shaped brooch that represents the royal family as much as it represents Grian’s reign itself.

‘Full royal regalia, today?’, Zedaph asks and pulls the duvet aside, sitting up slowly and grabbing the ends of it, folding it with swift movements. Grian smiles at that and does a small spin to show the way the black cape billows behind him, the small blue stones lining the edges of it shimmering in the newly-unveiled light from outside the windows, the snow that had settled around the landscape last night reflecting the sun’s rays and illuminating the whole room.

‘Oh, I’ve got quite the guests for the day, you know?’, Grian says matter of factly and that is when Zedaph’s face falls a little. He almost wants to slap himself over the head because  _ he _ had been the one acting nervous about how the day would go, but he is also the one saddened by the fact that he will probably be left to roam the halls,  _ again _ , while Grian fulfills his duties. Grian doesn’t take note of this because he is taking his crown off of his head and admiring the blackened gold of it, tiny veins of yellow showing through in an almost mesmerizing way, but the rubies and the single diamond in its centre, with the way the light hits them, outshine the fine metal work.

‘That’s nice, Gri’, Zedaph holds his hands behind his back as he goes to get his chest, ‘Now, I  _ did _ want to ask about this last night too, but...’

Zedaph shakes his head at the pause and Grian brings his eyes back on Zedaph, slowly placing the crown back on his head. It only serves to remind Zedaph of  _ who _ Grian is. He shouldn’t feel small in Grian’s presence, but when it comes to Grian’s status being so obviously displayed, it suddenly becomes a bit harder not to.

‘But, yeah,  _ yeah _ , I didn’t really get to. That’s alright though!’, Zedaph hurries to add as he crouches in front of his little, old chest, which had been abandoned off to the side last night, ‘Now, shall I head to the room I always use?’

Grian blinks. Zedaph blinks back. They just stare at each other for a few seconds and Zedaph wonders if he’s said something wrong because, given the way Grian is carrying himself right now, Zedaph feels a bit more intimidated. Then Grian tilts his head to the side a little and blinks once more, for good measure, before speaking.

‘Why do you ask that?’

He almost feels afraid to answer, but Zedaph shakes the little part of his brain that whispers this small fear into existence and just shrugs, looking between his chest and Grian.

‘Well, for one, I  _ do _ want to put my things away, if I’m to be staying for a week, but I also don’t think you want me hanging around your chambers all by my lonesome self while you are busy?’, Zedaph ends it as a question because he sees the frown forming on Grian’s face, notices the way confusion takes hold.

Grian suddenly smiles, then, and Zedaph feels like he is the butt of some sort of joke that he is not getting, but Grian makes his way over to him, making Zedaph almost feel inadequate, what with him still being dressed in his sleeping clothes, barefoot and in no way, shape or form holding himself as he should before, as his mother had once put it, any person worth looking at. Zedaph doesn’t like that, but he also does feel the way his back straightens just a little bit as her voice echoes in his ears.

‘Zedaph, come  _ on _ ’, Grian laughs and claps a hand over Zedaph’s shoulder, ‘I said I’d teach you, didn’t I?’

Zedaph flushes and looks down as Grian’s expression sharpens playfully, but he nods all the same, even if he is a bit unsure of how exactly Grian will do that, given that he’ll have important guests, which probably means Grian has  _ serious _ business to attend to.

The hand on his shoulder tightens its grip, prompting Zedaph to look up and, suddenly, Zedaph feels a bit more… Well, he isn’t sure if there exists a word for both aroused and scared, but  _ that _ , because the look in Grian’s eyes is both promising and terrifying.

‘Well, trust me,  _ this _ meeting is all about appearances, not, per se,  _ business _ , so I’ve got quite a bit of leeway and, lucky for you’, Grian leans down, his voice soft and honey sweet and  _ dangerous _ as he continues, ‘I shall take you with me as my personal attendant.’

Zedaph lets the fact that he isn’t sure what Grian means, exactly, become quite clear as the confusion on his face only makes Grian smile even wider in a way that, were it lacking the current context, would seem kind and  _ beautiful _ , as Grian himself always seems, but Zedaph isn’t sure if he’d rather cross the bridge of being an attendant when he comes to it or if he should ask now.

A knock on the door shuts down that option and makes the choice for him, however.

‘Your Majesty? One more hour’, the voice of a servant calls through the door and Grian pulls himself back out of Zedaph’s personal space just to respond with the solemn voice that, in his head, Zedaph calls the  _ king’s voice _ , the one he’s only ever heard Grian use when attending to his duties.

‘We’ll be in the throne room shortly.’

It sounds final.

The servant leaves, the echoing footsteps fading as they get further and further away, but that leaves Zedaph gulping as Grian’s attention falls back on him.

‘So’, Grian begins, resting a hand on his hip and jutting out one leg as he hums thoughtfully.

‘So…?’, Zedaph asks with a nervous tremble to his hands, which are fiddling with the hem of Tango’s shirt.

‘I say, because today offers us a  _ unique _ opportunity, let’s keep the personal,  _ physical  _ contact to a minimum, shall we?’

Zedaph ponders over the words for a second and he isn’t sure what  _ that _ is supposed to mean to him, either, but he nods, hesitantly. That’s all Grian needs to hear, apparently, because he is clapping his hands together and rubbing his palms against each other, the grin on his face growing a bit wider.

‘Well, then, if it gets to be too much, don’t hesitate to tell me, dear friend!’, and Zedaph is suddenly grabbed and pushed towards Grian’s wardrobe, which reminds Zedaph of the last time he’d left Grian in charge of dressing him up, but this time, Zedaph isn’t sure what to expect, knows even less about Grian’s intentions than last time, when Grian had just wanted to throw some clothes at him in order to make Zedaph look as refined as possible, but now Zedaph has several question that differ from ‘but why _ that _ pair of pants’, because there’s a  _ side door _ that he is being led right towards. Zedaph knows what people say about other people who have secret doors that lead to secret rooms, but as he is being pushed right through the rows of shirts that had been concealing the little entrance on either side of it, Zedaph decides to trust Grian, as he always does.

‘Now’, Zedaph doesn’t have time to adjust to the low light level because, all too swiftly, a candle is lit and, before Zedaph can even begin to analyse the shelves filled with what looks like jewelry but  _ isn’t _ , Grian is behind him, the heels on his boots probably giving him a bit of leverage, because he has to lean down as he continues whispering directly in Zedaph’s ear, the costly material of his crimson shirt pressed against Zedaph’s back all too obviously, the ridges and laces and embroidery something Zedaph  _ feels _ even through the layer of his own clothes, thin though they may be, ‘Get naked for me?’

* * *

Sitting still is difficult, but it’s something that Zedaph can manage, or at least, something he  _ thinks  _ he can manage, even if it takes him a while to get his breath under control, even if his face remains ever so slightly red, but walking, oh,  _ walking _ is a whole different issue. Every brush of fabric feels like fire spreading over his skin and he cannot take a single step without feeling  _ it _ shift within him. Not to mention that it’s easier to pretend everything is normal when he doesn’t feel stimulated by every small movement, but Grian had insisted, as soon as they’d reached the throne room and cordially greeted the future leader of a neighbouring kingdom, a tall man covered in a multitude of shawls, some of them pinched in places to subtly reveal the lythe strength of his body, his face covered by a metal mask that, oddly enough, given the wide, painted stripes in places and the crystals embedded where the eyes would be, a pattern which gets repeats itself on the outermost layer of fabric that hangs from his shoulders, almost resembles a bee of all things, that they go for a walk through the frozen gardens of the palace.

_ Good weather _ , Grian had said to X, whose name, as dictated by their traditions, would remain secret until X would become the ruling king of his own people, but Zedaph had known from the wicked glint in his eyes that Grian knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing. Zedaph didn’t dare speak up in the presence of two kings, despite Grian having clarified that Zedaph had always been allowed to ignore the typical conventions of a friendship between a noble and a member of the royal family because of his status as an old friend, because of the bond they share. X had nodded, had reached out with a hand painted in swirling patterns that resembled the hexagonal patterns of honeycombs and had introduced himself in a friendly tone before they’d left the throne room and Zedaph had tried to keep his trembling to a minimum as they shook hands.

Grian had watched as Zedaph stuttered through his own name with great amusement, no doubt, but that seems to have faded into a muffled sort of worry by now.

The two kings and their attendants, Zedaph and X’s own attendant, a friend oh his that goes by the name of Keralis and who is dressed almost as opulently as his soon-to-be king, except for the lack of colours in the layers of fabric covering his body and the missing mask, only his lower face being hidden by a see through strip of black fabric that seems to serve more of an aesthetic role than anything else, are now walking through the cleared paths of the icy gardens of Grian’s castle, X explaining that, in their kingdom, their winters are mild and quite humid, but not nearly cold enough for snow.

Keralis is listening intently and, with a warm voice, is adding certain details about their own home and about X himself, mostly compliments which seem to fluster him, into the conversation. Zedaph would have liked to join in on the conversations, knowing how harsh the winters can get here first hand, but he is afraid that all it would take for his whole facade to crumble away is for him to open his mouth.    
Now, Grian had only added a fur-lined coat to his outfit, his black cloak billowing behind him still, but Zedaph had gotten, once again, a full set of clothes from Grian’s closet. In a way, Zedaph is thankful that they are this close in size, but Grian is ever so slightly smaller than Zedaph himself and the  _ almost _ unnoticeable tightness of the black tunic Zedaph is wearing, though it wouldn’t normally bother him, now brings about a whole world of sensation with it, with the the coat he is wearing being fluffy in places, but mostly relying on its layering for warmth against the cold air, against which the sun peeking through the clouds does nothing. Zedaph keeps it unbuttoned even if his shoulders are shaking, for fear of more friction against his chest being the thing to bring about Zedaph’s undoing.

The pants are leather and the insides are meant to keep the warmth of his own body constant, but Zedaph finds that, given his own circumstances, the slightly ticklish interior of them is a lot more dangerous than he’d first thought.

It isn’t obvious because, at least up until this point, Zedaph has managed to keep a mostly straight face and has kept his composure to the best of his abilities, but beneath the layers, twin clamps decorated with gold and silver and two pearls against where they are fastened stand against his chest, held in place around both of his nipples, the chain hanging between them tucked into the shirt as unobtrusively as it can be and, with each movement of his body, each  _ breath _ , Zedaph can feel the polished wooden plug inside him, the very end of it that sits flush in the cleft of his arse carved nicely into the shape of a flower, reaching deep,  _ too deep _ within him.

_ These will be our little secret _ , Grian had said while helping Zedaph wash up for the day with lingering touches, just before dressing Zedaph up like some sort of mannequin to display his full wealth upon,  _ again _ , but either something had changed or Zedaph isn’t doing that good of a job, because the way Grian is side eyeing him looks all too concerned, and Zedaph is a bit too caught up in the sensitions coursing through his body to have his brain function as it normally would, especially as he tries to keep up with the pace X, whose long legs definitely aid him in a quicker stride, sets. Grian purses his lips and says something to X before making his way to Zedaph and subtly bringing a hand to Zedaph’s lower back, steering him to a stone bench that must have been cleaned up before the arrival of their guests.

Zedaph wants to ask what Grian is doing, but as he is made to sit down, the plug inside him hits a spot that has Zedaph biting down on his lower lip hard enough that the sting of pain turns into the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

‘Gri…?’, Zedaph winces at how weak his voice sounds, at how his breath rushes out of him more like soft pants, but Grian just shushes him, holding one of his hands while his other rubs circles against the small of Zedaph’s back. Zedaph cannot help it when he melts, but that is a mistake, because as his back loosens, the clamps rub against the material of the shirt and the edges of the undone coat.

‘Everything good, Zedaph?’, Grian asks and Zedaph uses the momentary break from walking to gather his wits about him, but he still limply nods instead of actually answering Grian’s question. The problem is that everything feels  _ too _ good. Grian had allowed Zedaph to put the plug inside himself, not before warning him again, just for the sake of it, that Zedaph is  _ not _ allowed to come unless Grian orders it, but he’d also given Zedaph a whole bottle of oil, which Zedaph had gaped and spluttered at, but just as he was done inserting the plug in, Grian had grabbed his chin and pinched the clamps onto his nipples. The memory has Zedaph shuddering, but he tries to keep still. 

‘Mh’, Grian hums, thoughtfully, and Zedaph opens his eyes, not having realised he’d even closed them in the first place, eyeing some of the late-blooming flowers that had been frozen into solid, beautifully frail shapes of ice, before he looks at Grian, whose eyes are back to glistening mischievously when he gazes at X and Keralis, who have stopped at another bench a few feet away from them, ‘Then… Think you can make it through lunch?’

And Zedaph gasps as Grian’s hand moves his back into an arch, the shifting position making his nipples rub against the soft shirt and moving the plug inside him so it can press even more firmly against Zedaph’s prostate. Suddenly, not coming feels like an even more daunting task, especially if Grian plans to continue teasing him like this, letting him stew in his own body for a while before bringing him  _ nearly _ across the edge.

Zedaph takes a deep breath and tries to keep his voice as calm as possible when he says:   
‘Sure.’

* * *

Lunch is  _ not _ a fun time, Zedaph comes to realise, because he feels so stimulated that he can barely even keep his eyes open anymore, his fingers fisted into the legs of his own trousers. Grian is sat right next to him and is in deep conversations with X about travel by open sea and different methods that each of their kingdoms employ once on water, while Keralis is sitting next to Zedaph, chattering happily about the new fortress X is planning to have built on the border with Grian’s kingdom in order to solidify their blossoming alliance, but Zedaph can barely hear him as he tries to stay still in his chair, as he tries to not rub his poor, abused nipples against the insides of his shirt, the pain of the clamps barely a background noise by now, if that, when compared to the rawness of them.

‘I do believe combining the building styles could- Are you feeling alright, sweetface?’, Keralis asks in his kindest voice, but Zedaph can only handle a slight nod of his head and an awkward smile. Keralis doesn’t seem too convinced, but he lets it slide for now, simply patting Zedaph’s thigh in what  _ should _ be a friendly gesture, but which, in Zedaph’s brain, registers as  _ more _ . 

Grian seems to notice this because, during one of the lulls in his and X’s conversation, whilst both Keralis and X are enjoying some of the cuisine the royal chefs had outdone themself when cooking, Grian leans into Zedaph’s space and whisper something to Zedaph that has him whipping his head around, just in order to check if anyone had heard, but before long, Zedaph has his eyes glued to the half-full plate in front of him, his cheeks too hot, the blush spreading down his neck, at this point.

‘You want him to fuck you?’

Zedaph gulps and raises his fork to get another bite of venison down his suddenly too dry throat, but before he can distract himself by biting into the tender, cooked meat and by enjoying the different spices used to compliment the taste of it, Grian simply continues.

‘He’s such a sweet man. I’ll bet if you asked nicely enough, he’d spread you over the table and...’

Zedaph closes his eyes and Grian chuckles lightly, bumping his own thigh into Zedaph’s and enjoying the way Zedaph nearly jumps out of his own skin, his jaw so tense with the sounds he keeps himself from making that it starts aching.

‘Grian...’, Zedaph warns, but Grian merely continues chuckling, that is, until Keralis speaks up, looking at the king and his attendant with bright, wide eyes.

‘The beetroot soup is like nothing I’ve ever had before, your Majesty!’, he says and, before adding his last compliment to the dish he is nearly finished with, it almost seems like he pins Zedaph with a look a bit too intense for a simple soup he is enjoying, one that seems more knowing than Zedaph hopes Keralis  _ actually _ is, ‘It’s quite  _ delicious _ .’

Grian’s giggling stops, but his smile seems ten times as wide and Zedaph can feel the way the plug rubs against his insides and, in his mind, he can almost see the image Grian had begun painting for him earlier, himself being pushed against the pristing table, the grey shawls of the man next to him brushing against Zedaph’s back as he-

Zedaph gulps and stuffs the venison in his mouth.

X observes them carefully while all of this is going down, but when he and Grian begin talking again, it doesn’t seem like anything has changed, doesn’t seem like either X, nor Keralis  _ actually _ know anything.

* * *

When X and Keralis leave the castle, it is with a handshake from X and a hug from Keralis for each of them, but whilst Grian politely accepts all of these greetings, his eyes go dark as he watches Zedaph once Keralis turns to hug him as well, and for good reason.

A pair of arms wrapping themselves around Zedaph’s waist is the very  _ last _ thing Zedaph needs right now because it’s exactly what his body wants and, because of how he is pulled onto his tiptoes, because of how the angle of the plug inside him changes once again, because of how Zedaph’s sensitive chest is pressed against Keralis, all of these sensations add to the pressure already growing inside Zedaph and, for just a second, Zedaph loses control.

The softest, smallest mewl escapes his lips before Zedaph can bite his tongue against it and, all of a sudden, there are multiple pairs of eyes on him. Before Zedaph can become a veritable, red-faced mess under the gaze of the three men around him, Grian clicks his tongue and shakes his head, slapping Zedaph on the back gently, patting him more than anything.

‘Oh, dear me’, X exclaims and, for a second, Zedaph considers whether he should laugh at how the wording contrasts X’s image, but Grian keeps patting Zedaph’s back as Keralis steps back with a confused line to his brows.

‘Uh oh, something wrong, sweetface?’, Keralis asks and he sounds so innocently confused that, when his next statement comes, Zedaph nearly combusts on the spot because of the sheer  _ heat _ with which it is said, even if Zedaph may have simply started imagining things, given how absolutely out of the loop he is, ‘ _ Did I hurt you? _ ’

Grian laughs and waves them both off.

‘Don’t you two worry! Zedaph here just fell down the stairs and you must have happened to accidentally touch a  _ sore _ spot.’

The irony isn’t lost on Zedaph, but he smiles at the two through the painful amount of arousal he feels. Luckily, the trousers he is wearing are cut in such a way that they hide any of his excitement, seem to have been designed especially for it, even.

Keralis sighs a relieved sigh and, after a few more reassurances and a plan to keep a flow of letters between the two royals going, Keralis and X make their way to their own carriages and Zedaph is left almost leaning into Grian as his knees wobble. By now, he’d do anything to just have the plug out of him and have, well,  _ anything _ , any sort of stimulation that would actually allow him to come. If Zedaph is being completely honest, maybe all he needs is a few more less than innocent words to just spill inside his trousers, but Grian seems all too aware of that because, with a loud cackling following them as they make their way down the hallways, he guides Zedaph back to his own rooms.

* * *

Zedaph barely makes it into the room before falling to his knees on the floor, managing to do so besides one of the walls. His hands fly to the buttons of his shirt, with the sole wish of getting some relief against his, by now,  _ aching _ chest but he is fumbling with them, the shaking of his fingers making it hard for him to even get the first button undone before Grian’s voice rings through the room.

‘Now, now Zed, the floor is no place for you. Not yet, at least’, and Grian giggles at his own joke, but Zedaph can hear the door being shut behind them, can hear, even as his hands fall away from his shirt and begin gripping his own knees instead as he tries to breathe and  _ not _ grind down against the buttplug inside him, the lock being turned, ‘That’s a good boy.’

Grian is closer now and Zedaph doesn’t realise that he has tears in his eyes until he tries to look up at him but fails miserably due to how the tears blur his vision, but Zedaph  _ does _ feel the hands on his shoulders, can feel it when Grian pulls him up, but Zedaph is almost too gone to comply, feels just a wrong move away from coming. Thankfully, Grian seems to notice the predicament Zedaph finds himself in, because he hums thoughtfully and, before Zedaph has time to ask for anything, his fingers make quick work of the shirt, which he then gently removes from Zedaph’s frame, leaving his chest completely bare with the exception of the long necklace that connects to the clamps to each of Zedaph’s nipples, the loops of metal and the small pearls shining in what Zedaph would probably find a beautiful way, were he not focused on how he both cannot bear the thought of having them removed from his sensitive chest and how he cannot even  _ imagine _ keeping them on a second longer, craving the pain, craving the relief and balancing between both of those needs.

Grian looks at Zedaph as his sensations clash against each other in his head and in his body, but he seems to know what he is doing when, with no words spoken between them, he leads Zedaph to the bed, gently laying him down and, before Zedaph can protest, ripping the trousers right off of him.

‘Gri-’

‘Hush, be good’, Grian says sweetly, then, and Zedaph’s mouth closes immediately, but he whimpers between gritted teeth. One of Grian’s cold hands trails down his thigh as Zedaph does his best to cover his crotch but Grian waves his hands away, even if he pays barely any attention to Zedaph’s arousal. Instead, Grian taps on Zedaph’s thigh until he moves his legs up the bed, spreading them and allowing Grian full view of the plug, which is removed without hesitation and placed on a clean piece of fabric waiting on one of the nightstands. Together with the plug, a sob is also coerced out of Zedaph, which gives Grian pause.

As he is right now, naked except for his knee-high socks and the nipple clamps and the chains connecting them together to a long necklace, Zedaph feels as if he cannot wait a second longer without his orgasm, lest he go mad, because the pain burning through his body is getting to him.

Grian hums as he takes in just how exposed Zedaph is right now, writhing on his bed and letting out all these small sounds, and he almost seems pleased, but he takes a step back. Zedaph mewls and makes to move, but Grian gives him a cold smile and waves his hand at him in a clear sign to stay still. Zedaph tries to do as he is being told, but he almost cannot help himself, not when he is this hard and aching, not when all he needs is just a little more to fall over the edge, but Grian keeps backing away.

‘I’ll go change. In the meantime, I want you to think about today,  _ really _ think about what you wanted, what I  _ know _ you still want, Zed’, Grian explains and the glint of something a bit darker, something pleased at the state Zedaph is in, shines in his black eyes again. The room is dark once more, with only the fireplace throwing a familiar orange glow over everything it can reach and Zedaph almost wants to cry with frustration. He feels empty, after having spent the better part of the day filled up so nicely and, for just a moment, he can almost see  _ exactly _ what Grian had described at lunch happening once again, but this time, he is sitting face down on the bed, his arse in the air and there are hands keeping his head down and hips thrusting into him as someone leans down and whispers a soft  _ ‘Did I hurt you?’ _ and it’s almost too much. Zedaph’s back arches and he wants to touch himself so badly that his hands twitch against his sides, but he knows, he  _ knows _ he will come the moment he does so. Zedaph settles on cupping his own pecs, mindful of the clamps and of the sensitive buds of his nipples, but even that slight touch sends a jolt of heat down Zedaph’s spine, makes him curl into himself after rolling on his side as he tries to get his arousal to calm down, but that seems like an impossible task right now.

Grian is back too soon and not soon enough and Zedaph thinks he should be ashamed of the state he is in, squirming in the king’s bed, naked and desperate for anything, but his mind is too clouded. Grian doesn’t say anything at first, but then both of his hands settle on Zedaph’s waist and move him slightly, just enough that Grian can slip in bed beside him.

The shock of naked skin against naked skin has Zedaph moaning, however, and before he even knows what is happening, he feels the pressure of one of the clamps loosening before completely disappearing, its twin following suit and leaving Zedaph a sensitive mess before Grian, even the touch of the fine sheets beneath his body enough to have him gasping and choking on his own breath.

‘There, there’, Grian murmurs softly, his hands touching Zedaph tenderly as he brings Zedaph’s limbs into a more relaxed pose, as he, slowly, helps Zedaph come down from the oversensitive high that Zedaph had been riding on for what feels like a silly amount of time, but Zedaph welcomes it, begins to do so, at least, the more awareness he gains back, ‘You did great. Much better than I expected.’

Zedaph whimpers at the praise, but exhaustion is the thing left behind the arousal as the latter slowly leaves his system. Grian brings their foreheads together and their eyes meet, a black gaze studying Zedaph’s hazy, purple eyes almost carefully as he brings a hand to Zedaph’s cheek.

Their touches, compared to last night, aren’t sensual, lack the inherent eroticism of what would turn Zedaph on and, so, he slowly grows softer beneath the duvet that he hadn’t even felt being pulled over him.

‘What… What was...’, Zedaph tries to ask, yet his mouth feels too dry, his tongue a lead weight that cannot shape itself around the words he tries to get out, but Grian understands nonetheless as he cuddles himself into Zedaph’s numb body, his warmth spreading over to Zedaph in a way that doesn’t help his sleepiness.

‘Impulse enjoys playing in public, from what we’ve done before, sometimes, but being caught isn’t something a lot of people like’, Grian whispers, softly, gently, and Zedaph feels the way sleep tugs at his newly regained awareness, even if the words have something fluttering in his stomach, ‘But you did good. You were so pretty, too, trying to keep your moans in, squirming in place… You were  _ beautiful _ , you know?’

Zedaph feels Grian smile against his still tingling chest, but he is too tired to hold onto the strings of arousal trying to webb themselves back together. Zedaph blinks and a corner of his mouth lifts up in a small, uneven smile too. The compliment makes his abdomen feel warm, but it’s not just a sexual thing, not really.

This time, when Zedaph falls asleep cuddled up with Grian, both of them naked and using each other to get more warmth, he isn’t afraid of what the next day will bring, because if tonight has shown him anything, it’s that Grian knows how to take care of him. It’s a reassuring feeling.


	3. Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Grized (sexual, platonic)

Zedaph isn’t awoken intentionally, at least, he doesn’t  _ think _ he is, mostly because it’s due to the ruckus going on all around him that he groans softly as he opens his eyes, not without some reluctance. The curtains are still drawn, so the room, thankfully for his poor, still tired eyes, remains pleasantly dark, but there are servants running about the room and, in the middle of all the chaos, Zedaph notices that he is alone in the giant bed. And naked. Zedaph hopes that the servants don’t hear the squeak he lets out as he dives back under the duvet, using it to block the view of his body, but with the way everyone is up to something, some of the servants carrying entire floor-length rolls of parchment, others holding out clothes that look entirely too dark and formal to be meant for a simple, informal meeting such as the one they’d attended yesterday, but most of the people in the room are gathered in one place, just around Grian’s desk, which he can now see slightly better due to the litany of candles lit up on its edges.

Sitting at the desk, the glint of a golden tipped pen in his hand catching the light of the small wisps of fire, is the man Zedaph had unconsciously been looking for ever since his world had reformed around him. Grian’s face is not something Zedaph can analyse in order to gain a better understanding of what is going on because his back is turned, but Zedaph can conclude that it must be something important, something official. And Zedaph is just sitting there, watching,  _ intruding _ .

Slowly, so as to alert as few of the servants as possible, Zedaph wraps the duvet around his shoulders and stands on shaky legs. He pretends he doesn’t feels some of the pairs of eyes in the room turning to him, but Zedaph just stalks toward the wardrobe and, after observing the lack of people in there, he slips inside and closes the door behind him, allowing himself to slide down the door like a particularly drunk lightweight during a celebration. In all honesty, maybe something to drink would make the embarrassment more bearable right now, Zedaph ponders, because it’s not like royalty isn’t known for bedding whoever they please, but Zedaph feels the shame that he has yet to get rid off even after…

Zedaph blushes, shakes his head and stands. His eyes gaze at the rows of clothing extending before him, ignoring the spot where he knows that, were he to pull the shirts back just a little and crouch enough to not hit his head on a shelf fixed just above it, he’d find the small side room that Grian had shown him yesterday, but Zedaph sighs and looks for something to wear instead. By now, given everything, he’s a bit less self-conscious about borrowing a few items of clothing and, to be fair, the thought of going back into the bedroom in order to retrieve his own chest has Zedaph recoiling in embarrassment. 

As quickly as he can, Zedaph grabs the least eye-catching or bedazzled garments he can find, even if that is quite a bit harder to find than he’d first imagined, this being the wardrobe of a king and all, but he doesn’t have time to put all of the articles of his chosen outfit on because, all of a sudden, Grian bursts into the room.    
Zedaph has a pair of trousers on and is halfway through pulling a simple, beige tunic over his head. He is also shoeless. And sockless. Grian snorts as Zedaph struggles with the tunic but doesn’t say anything until Zedaph has straightened himself and is sitting still on a small, three-legged stool situated in the corner, looking towards Grian with a blank face, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. He still doesn't have any shoes on.

‘Well, look who decided to join the living again’, he says, but the teasing tone is overshadowed by something more serious and Zedaph wonders if it has something to do with what had been going on in the bedroom when he awoke. Zedaph doesn’t need to ask because Grian sighs and runs a hand through his hair, mindful of the golden circlet back around his head, his whole outfit a simpler, capeless version of yesterday’s getup. There’s still too many laces on his shirt, but he looks radiant where he stands, his back straight and his hands crossed over his chest, a brow raised.

‘There’s an emergency meeting with one of my generals that I must attend to, you understand...’, is said with something displeased mixed in with Grian’s serious tone and Zedaph can tell that it hadn’t been planned. The possible gravity of the situation really dawns on Zedaph, now, and he just nods. Grian sighs and brings a hand to his temple, rubbing gentle fingers against it, his posture slouching a little as he throws a glance at the closed door behind him, but then he is walking towards Zedaph and, before Zedaph has a chance to realise what is happening, there is a hand lifting his chin up, cupping his face almost delicately, and black eyes stare into his own with the subdued ember of the true temper of the man before him. Zedaph gulps and, because he knows Grian well enough to recognise the fact that he has something to say, he bites his lips and waits.

‘It’s important, but I’ll be back by sunset at the latest. Are you going to be good until then?’

And Zedaph feels the way his own eyes flutter shut, his breathing speeding up a fraction as he tries to stop the way his body already wants to react, but he still hears Grian chuckle lightly just before the hand on his chin retreats, taking with it the cool, gentle sensation of fingers. Zedaph hadn’t realised how cold the room around him actually is, so he uses that as his excuse as to why he shivers when he opens his eyes and is greeted by the beautiful image that Grian presents, the severe cut of his dark clothes making him appear even paler than he usually does, but he is smiling down at Zedaph and, with the way his eyes twinkle, despite the veneer of responsibility over them, Zedaph smiles back, albeit a bit crookedly.    
With one last nod, Grian turns around and makes for the door, his heels clicking against the polished floor of the closet room. His hand hovers over the doorknob and he throws Zedaph a look over his shoulder, one full of both warm reassurance and something more akin to a promise.

Zedaph suddenly feels almost too small under that gaze and he simply waves, his shoulders hunched over and his smile turning more into a tight-lipped frown, but Grian doesn’t have time to question it, as a servant calls for him by title with urgency in their voice.

Soon enough, Zedaph is left alone in the wardrobe, but he doesn’t leave the small chamber until all the noise outside of it dies down.

He shouldn’t be too affected by being alone, Zedaph thinks.

* * *

The first thing Zedaph does once he is back in the main bedroom is wince as the howling wind from outside reaches his ears, the windows having not only been unveiled after Grian had left for the meeting room, but but also been left wide open, the cold air from the grey blur of shapes outside enough to chill Zedaph to the bone. The fireplace is long cold, Zedaph notes as he immediately runs towards it and throws another log from the pile neatly arranged next to it into the fading embers but, thankfully, the smoldering ashes seem to catch, thin tendrils of smoke rising from the underside of the log.    
Next, Zedaph walks over to the large window, his hands rubbing his own forearms in a futile attempt to keep himself from shivering too badly, but his teeth are still clattering when he reaches the windowsill, however, it is the scenery that takes Zedaph’s breath away and makes him stop for a second and  _ look _ .

Unlike yesterday, there is no sun in sight, only the very faint, round silhouette of it behind the colourless mass of clouds covering the entire sky, the edges of them climbing and acaprating the peaks of the mountains in the distance. It’s not snowing yet, but the clouds seem ripe with it, the heaviness of them one that Zedaph can almost feel pressing down on his own chest, but the air is as crisp as it is cold and Zedaph lets himself breathe it in.    
It’s not a conventionally beautiful landscape, he knows, the moodiness of the weather and the impending snowfall bound to happen sometime during the day or maybe even once darkness truly falls over the, for now, blinding white of the glistening snow, iced over though it may be due to the cold, not something that showcases the beauty of the nature surrounding them, but it does bring back memories, memories of days spent inside with a hot cup of chocolate, his mother reading him his favourite fairytale, because on days like these, Zedaph had never been allowed to go outside alone for fear of wandering into the woods next to their home while playing and getting lost in the inevitable snow storm to come, memories of one of his brothers taking him out to the stables to make sure their horses were warm and safe against the harsh weather, of him throwing Zedaph into a pile of snow and laughing as a very angry and very vengeful, tinier version of Zedaph threw a whole pile of snow at his brother’s face, memories of some winters he’d spent at the palace, when he and Grian and a number of other children of the nobility would hide in the frozen gardens and await the first snowflake to fall, only to snatch it up and make a wish like the impressionable children they once were. 

There’s nothing special about any of those memories, but the warmth they fill his chest with doesn’t physically translate, so Zedaph finally unclenches his fists from his forearms and struggles in closing the large window, the wind whipping past him and bringing a fair bit of ice and snow from the outside sill right onto the wooden floor of the bedroom. Still, once the latch is shut, once Zedaph has made sure to throw a bit more wood into the now joyful fire that had somehow managed to survive the draft Zedaph’s trip to the past had facilitated, he stares out of the window for a bit longer, his eyes staring at the blurry tops of the mountains.

His brain isn’t in the moment though, so when he hears a knock at the big doors leading into the bedroom, Zedaph nearly jumps out of his skin, his eyes widening before he breathes deeply once, twice, and answers the person on the other side.

‘Yes?’, he says simply, calmly, or so Zedaph hopes it comes across, and suddenly, the doorway is filled with the much brighter light from the hallway, the single shape of a servant standing in it, a tray in his hand where a teacup and a plate of small, slightly misshapen biscuits rests.

‘My lord, breakfast has been delayed due to unforeseen circumstances, but his majesty has suggested you would like a cup of tea in its place? Lunch will be brought here too, if you so wish’, the servant says and, as Zedaph nods and smiles politely, he steps closer, polished dress shoes making almost no sound as he moves closer. Zedaph points him to one of the nightstands and, after laying the tray’s contents down carefully, he brings his focus back to Zedaph. Tapping one of his fingers against his own chin, Zedaph thinks about it. He’s got the whole day ahead of him and, if he is being honest with himself, he’ll probably end up spending the better part of it cooped up inside Grian’s bedroom, so he shakes his head.

‘Would I go to the kitchen to get lunch, if not?’, Zedaph asks and the servant’s smile widens a fraction.

‘If you so wish, my lord’, he answers simply and Zedaph nods, then.

The servant takes a bow and Zedaph inclines his own head respectfully.

Soon enough, he is left alone to ponder the aching happiness of nostalgia as he sips the hot ginger tea that, most likely, Grian had intentionally chosen, because it is Zedaph’s favourite, and he munches on a biscuit from the plate.

It’s not like Zedaph doesn’t think about the events of yesterday, his thoughts always keen on analysing his own reactions and his own feelings, especially since this is supposed to be a learning experience, but, maybe because of the weird, melancholic mood he is in, or maybe because of how relaxed a warm cup of his favourite tea makes him in this sort of weather, it isn’t hot shame that burns through him, rather, it is a spark of arousal that makes his body pleasantly warm. It’s not enough to turn him on, because Zedaph doesn’t linger, but it does make Zedaph nod to himself. 

His hand idly travels down to his own chest and, moments later, Zedaph is moving away from the window, placing his empty cup back on the nightstand and moving towards his chest.

Next thing he knows, Zedaph has dragged a few pillows and the thin quilt from the armchair next to the bed over by the window and he is reading through a book detailing the functionality of some sort of farming machinery. It is entirely too technical and boring, Zedaph knows, but it makes him feel cozy and he would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way the wordy descriptions of pistons and levers and wheels manage to bring some vivid images into his own head, shutting out any other things that he might want to avoid thinking about for now.

* * *

Zedaph does end up finishing his book, if only due to a lack of something better to do, despite hanging around the kitchens for a few more hours after lunch, having offered to help the kitchen hands. They’d all prepared some baked sweets until well into the afternoon and, even now, Zedaph thinks there’s some flour sticking to his fingers, which he hadn’t been able to scrape off, but he hadn’t minded. He’d been clumsy, for sure, having never really had to busy himself with cooking before moving in with his lovers, but they’d all had a good laugh.

Now, the curtains are being drawn all around him again, just as the lamps and candles are being lit, but Zedaph still catches a glimpse of the dark exterior. The wind is stronger than it had been and it almost makes the windows rattle in their frames, but Zedaph still has the thin quilt from before wrapped around his shoulders as he makes his way through the maze-like corridors of the castle, and he is aware that tonight will surely be a cold night, as it always happens just before a blizzard. 

In the back of his mind, Zedaph wonders what the weather must be like for Impulse and Tango and he can only hope that they too are safe and warm somewhere inside. A bit selfishly, he wonders if they’d thought of him as much as he had of them, but deeper down, Zedaph is just glad they have each other, because, as it stands, Zedaph just finds his own thoughts drifting to them if he doesn’t distract himself. 

With a sigh and a bittersweet smile on his face, Zedaph reaches the king’s bedroom once more, his eyes almost droopy due to the premature darkness that is so characteristic of winter, but there’s even less light inside the chamber than the rest of the castle. The windows had been covered while he had been in the kitchens, but there is no light to illuminate the room other than the, yet again, embers of the fireplace, which are not really strong enough to provide any substantial warmth or to cast the warm, orange glow that Zedaph had gotten so used to these past few days.

But the bedroom isn’t empty.

Zedaph doesn’t notice him at first, as he simply wanders over to the fireplace in order to place a few more logs onto the hot ashes, hoping that he won’t have to light the fire up himself and that the temperature at the core of the burnt remains of wood will be enough to sustain itself again, but it doesn’t take Zedaph long to realise that there is already someone in front of the fireplace, his dark clothing making him blend in with the blinding darkness, only the gold of the circlet above his brow catching a bit of the light of the small flames that engulf the logs making his presence clear but, all at once, Zedaph finds himself looking up at Grian from where he is crouched in front of the fire.

‘Oh! Meeting done?’, Zedaph says by way of greeting, joy slipping into his tone just as a smile slips onto his face once he moves to push himself back to his feet, but suddenly, there’s a hand on his head, pushing him, no,  _ keeping _ him on his knees, down on the floor. Zedaph can’t see Grian’s face in this light and he wonders if his own confusion is just as hard to observe.

There’s silence between them for a few seconds, that is, until Grian speaks, and it’s like nothing Zedaph has ever heard from him before. Grian sounds  _ furious _ , a sort of barely contained rage shivering just beneath the blank, emotionless slate of his words. Zedaph has to remind himself to ignore his mind as he draws in a sharp breath, because he doesn’t need its nagging too. His knees dig into the wooden floor almost painfully, despite Grian’s hand leaving him once Zedaph is back down into the crouch from before, even if his back is straighter now and his feet rest beneath him, his hands folded in his lap.

‘Yes.’

It’s such a simple response that it leaves Zedaph waiting for more, so he patiently looks up at Grian, but nothing else leaves his lips and Zedaph can almost imagine the intensity of those beautiful black eyes, usually wide with mischief or joy, now narrowed into something else. For a second, worry worms its way into Zedaph’s head and he wonders if he is the reason for Grian’s bad mood. He doesn’t let it show, but the words his own brain is whispering to him make his heart give a painful beat against his chest. Zedaph shuts them up as best as he can for now, but he  _ has _ to ask.

‘Something wro-’, but then the echoing sound Grian’s heels make as he walks away interrupts him, the loudness of it rivaling the whistling winds outside.

The fire is stronger now and, finally, Zedaph can see something, but he isn’t sure how to interpret what he sees.

Grian is sat into the chair at his desk, but it is turned so he can look at Zedaph. There’s a mess of papers and parchments and official looking letters scattered all over the large desk, but most of them seem to have been left there in the aftermath of the morning’s franacity. The first glimpse Zedaph gets of Grian’s face makes him shiver where he kneels, the warmth of the fire licking at his back, the quilt having been dropped to hang onto Zedaph by his elbows, but Zedaph only sees the furrowed brows, the tense line of a mouth usually caught in some sort of smile, whether playful or polite, the way exhaustion seems to mix with anger on the king’s beautiful face, his features, just as pristine as always, now twisted into something darker.

‘It’s just been a long day, Zed’, Grian finally answers, crossing his legs at the ankles and leaning his body to one side, resting his cheek into one hand and looking down at Zedaph, ‘It’s over now, however.  _ Come here _ .’

Zedaph nearly jumps at the thinly veiled command in the tone Grian uses, but he shakes his head. He hadn’t expected their less than appropriate activities to begin as soon as he’d walked through the door, but now Zedaph feels the way the heat of the blush adorning his face spreads lower and he sighs shakily. Before he can attempt to get up once more, Grian clicks his tongue.

‘You don’t need to sit up for what I want from you.  _ Crawl _ ’, Zedaph feels the shame flood his face with even more colour, but he trusts Grian, trusts that whatever he is planning will most likely end up being quite pleasurable for Zedaph himself and, if he is being honest, Zedaph is  _ excited _ for what is about to happen, so without wasting any more time, he begins doing exactly as he is told, crawling towards Grian, his knees scraping against the floor as he does, but the only change he sees in Grian as he slowly approaches him is the fact that he leans back even further in his chair, his eyes now half-lidded, and that he opens his legs, almost inviting Zedaph to sit between them, but he hesitates.

Zedaph stops just a few feet away from Grian and looks to him for further guidance, but the reassuring face or the warm, if teasing smile Zedaph might have come to expect simply aren’t there. Instead, Grian purses his lips and his fingers twitch against his own cheek.

‘Come now, I won’t believe that you’ve never served someone before’, Grian drawls and his voice is smooth, if cold, the lilt of it just as elegant as it always is, but the words remind Zedaph of his very first time doing something even remotely similar to this and it had happened on the first night he’d ever… Back when…

Zedaph flushes further as he makes to crawl between Grian’s legs, remembering himself in an eerily identical position, except, back then, he had been sitting in front of Tango, blindfolded and still too shy to do anything other than what Impulse had been telling him to do, remembering the weight of a cock in his hand, in his  _ mouth _ , remembering the sounds and how being used had felt like, but Grian just sighs softly and seems to relax a bit as Zedaph settles between his open thighs. Zedaph doesn’t dare move. By now, he knows a few ways in which he could, as Grian had put it,  _ serve _ him, but he’s come to realise, over these last few months, that being guided, for him,  _ is _ part of the thrill, so he waits.

‘That’s a good boy’, Grian says quietly and, before Zedaph realises what is going on, there is a hand in his hair, gripping light yellow strands between cold fingers and scratching at his scalp slowly, ‘Take off my trousers for me, Zed.’

And Zedaph’s hands shake as he does what he is told, his heartbeat loud even to his own ears, but he does make quick work of the, thankfully, less complicated laces on Grian’s leather pants. Soon enough, he comes to the sudden realisation that there isn’t any other layer for him to peel back, as soft, pale thighs fill his vision.

They almost seem to glow in the faint, flickering light provided by the fire somewhere behind Zedaph, the white expanse of them captivating, but not enough to distract Zedaph from what he sees between Grian’s legs. Grian is soft down there for now, but Zedaph still flushes and looks away as he frantically removes the trousers completely, continues staring down at his lap even after they are folded and placed next to them onto the floor.

There is faint laughter above him, but Zedaph doesn’t look up, his shame and his own ever growing arousal keeping him red-faced and all too embarrassed to do so. That is, until Grian traces his cold fingers over Zedaph’s cheeks and, gently,  _ makes _ him look up. Grian legs move around him and he feels the smooth skin of Grian’s thighs brush against his clothed frame, the force in them surprising, given how suple they look, but Zedaph just gulps and tries to keep his mind focused on everything  _ else _ going on around him. It’s not an easy task.

‘I’ve had quite the stressful day, so...’, and Grian shoves Zedaph down again, his gentleness fading into roughness so quickly that, for a moment, it gives Zedaph whiplash, ‘Why don’t you help me relax?’

Grian brings him exactly where he wants him and his legs flex around Zedaph once, twice, before Zedaph can even come to terms with the fact that he is at eye-level with Grian’s dick, which is now starting to harden. It is just as pale as the rest of him, but its head is rosy in colour and it curves against his stomach. Zedaph nearly swallows his own tongue before he inhales slowly, trying to rid himself of nerves as he brings his own trembling hands to Grian’s thighs, shivering at the soft sound the action has Grian making.

‘H-how’, Zedaph squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that maybe, if he isn’t faced with exactly what they are doing, then his embarrassment might somewhat fade, ‘How do you… What shall I do…?’

He hears Grian laugh and opens his eyes, only to be greeted by that same expression from before, still dark and almost intimidating, now forced into the shape of a smile. Grian’s eyes are a bit warmer, a bit kinder, however, so Zedaph sighs. One of Grian’s legs moves up so that it is resting against Zedaph’s shoulders and, soon enough, the details of how Grian wants him make themselves clearer together with the image that Grian presents him with. His entrance, now on display, is just as pink as the tip of his cock, and Zedaph isn’t sure if the heat of the fire is getting to him, if he is developing a fever, or his body is just urging him to turn into a poppy, colour-wise.

‘So polite. Always  _ have  _ been one to please, haven’t you?’, Grian muses, but then he breathes in and throws his head back as his thighs tighten around Zedaph, ‘Lick my hole.’

It is a simple order, but Zedaph is very careful when he moves his head lower, is as gentle as he can be when his hands move Grian’s legs slightly so he can get a better angle and Zedaph has no idea what he is doing as he breathes out over the entrance to Grian’s body, but the soft sigh that he can hear above him is promising.

Zedaph tries to remember what this feels like, because Tango has always liked pleasing his boyfriends and he seems to have developed a propensity for bending Zedaph over any surface available and just wrecking him with his tongue, which, to be fair, Zedaph has never protested against, so he does what he knows Tango likes doing at first and, softly, slowly, he runs his tongue over the rim of Grian’s hole, almost shy in his touches, that is, until he hears the way Grian moans above him, the sound breathy and encouraging in its own right.

‘That’s it, that’s...’, Zedaph looks up as his mouth opens wider, and he almost feels his own body tense up as it remembers the sensation, only to lay an open-mouthed kiss against the puckered hole, the flat of his tongue resting against Grian’s entrance. The thighs around him shiver and Zedaph closes his eyes and tries to let himself go, to let himself get lost in the feeling, which becomes all the easier once he feels two hands grip his hair almost roughly, while Grian’s other leg comes to hook over his shoulders as well.

‘Feels good...’, is whispered above him and Zedaph can only whimper against Grian’s skin at both the words and the way his hair is pulled ever so slightly, pushing his mouth even harder against Grian’s entrance. Zedaph decides to try something else and, as he swirls his tongue around Grian’s rim and continues using his lips to provide some suction over the soft, heated skin of it, just before exhaling and pushing his tongue against the tight ring of muscle, gasping as it slips in, aided by saliva and the way Grian keeps himself relaxed as he is being tongue-fucked, he thinks he might have made the right choice.

Zedaph tries to keep a steady rhythm going, but he is losing himself in it, is shaking as he moves his tongue inside Grian, pausing the movements only for gentle kisses against his rim that have Grian pulling at his hair. They’re both making noises, but Zedaph is trying to muffle himself, if only to hear the soft moans and mewls Grian is letting out, but his body is heating up and, distantly, he remembers that Grian had told him he wouldn’t be allowed to come without permission. His fingers dig into the meat of Grian’s thighs as he tries to gain control over his own body, but Zedaph’s head is getting dizzy.

‘Gods, you’re doing great,  _ f-fuck _ ...’, Grian whimpers and Zedaph looks up at him with almost worshipful eyes, despite the way his vision blurs with the effort to keep a hold on his own sensations and reactions, but after a particularly pleasant movement inside him, Grian yanks Zedaph’s head back, a gasp slipping past Zedaph’s lips and a moan that sounds as though it had been ripped out of Grian filling the room around them.

They stay like that, with Grian panting and shivering as he keeps Zedaph where he wants him and with Zedaph blinking his haziness away, pressing his legs together where he is kneeling on the floor.

‘Ah… Zed, I didn’t know you were so good with your tongue...’, Grian says, his voice still higher-pitched than usually and a drunken lilt to his words, his smile lazy and almost too smug, given how he hadn’t been fully satisfied. Zedaph is about to inquire about that, the pleasant feeling in his stomach turning into something more anxious as he wonders if, maybe, Grian is just saying this to make him feel better, is already scrambling where he stands on the floor, his eyes wide and shining with something akin to desperation, lips quivering, but Grian still has an unmoving grip on Zedaph’s hair and he just keep him there, his half smile fading from his features and something more thoughtful stretching across his face.

‘G-Gri…?’, Zedaph still asks, cursing his own stutter in his mind, wishing he could turn his headaway, if only to stop Grian from picking up on all of the emotions flittering across Zedaph’s face that he’s never been able to fully hide.

‘You’re alright, Zedaph’, he says, before pating Zedaph on the head with surprisingly gentle fingers, but maybe he sees the jitteriness of Zedaph’s disposition, because he hums and his legs widen in their stance again, or at least, they do so as best as they can, propped as they still are over Zedaph’s shoulders, ‘I want something else from you now, though.’

Zedaph perks up at that and maybe the shift in his emotions shows, because Grian chuckles softly and closes his eyes with a pleased sigh.

Before any further clarification can be made, Grian reaches over to one of the drawers of the desk and pulls out a small bottle of colourful, spun glass, the contents of it clearly oil in the way the liquid clings to the walls of it. Zedaph bites his lips and, when Grian offers it to him, he thinks he knows what Grian’s next wishes might be. He doesn’t assume, though, and simply awaits any further commands with the bottle gripped in his hands.

‘You fingers, I want them inside me now’, Grian finally says and he sounds nearly as breathless as Zedaph himself feels, but Zedaph doesn’t dare look up at him to see the blissed out expression, because he knows that  _ that _ would be his undoing, instead, with shaky fingers, Zedaph pulls the silver-capped stopper out of the bottle and, after a moment of thought, pours a few drops of oil onto his fingers, allowing the rest to drip down onto Grian’s fluttering hole, which already glistens with saliva.

‘You may start with two f-  _ Gods _ ’, Grian moans out as Zedaph circles two of his fingers around his rim, gently allowing them to push against the clutch of Grian’s body, pressing down slowly, more and more with each little twitch of his fingers, but then Grian’s hand cups Zedaph’s cheek and, when they lock eyes, misty purple meeting bleary black, Zedaph realises that he may not be the only one growing closer to his end, because Grian’s eyes are rolling back and, after Zedaph’s fingers finally enter him, just as careful and tender as before, it is like something shifts in his body, his back arching and his breath escaping him in a wanton moan.

Zedaph curls his fingers then, because he can imagine how it feels and merely thinking about it is making him tense up, is making his own, not surprisingly, hard dick leak into his own pants, but right now, what Zedaph wants to focus on is making Grian feel good, so he pulls his fingers out and slowly, ever so slowly, pushes them back in, ignoring the way they shake against the tight hole around them, but Grian seems to enjoy it, because his hand on Zedaph’s face tenses up and he sounds like he is a few thrusts away from falling over the edge. The Gods only know, Zedaph feels like he himself is too.

‘Press up, that’s my-’, Grian doesn’t finish his sentence because Zedaph does so obediently, his eyes widening sweetly at the mewl that the change in angle seems to coax right out of Grian’s chest, but now Zedaph has something working for him, has a small idea of what he is doing and, though he fumbles with the movement, especially because he feels as though his own body is pressed right up against the edge of an orgasm that, after days without release, seems just about strong enough to knock Zedaph right out, he speeds his fingers up a little bit, following the pattern Grian’s moans make whenever he hits his prostate and tries to give Grian everything he wants, tries to be good for him.

It is only once Grian tenses up to the point where the heels of his feet dig into Zedaph’s shoulder blades almost painfully that Grian, once more, pushes Zedaph away, but this time, it is so he can grab Zedaph’s face between both of his hands and, with a roughness Zedaph had instinctively known he possessed but had never thought would feel the effects off, shoves his cock, now red at the tip, throbbing in what must be a painful amount of pleasure, if the way that same colour is spread all over Grian’s body says anything, right into Zedaph’s mouth and down his throat with a long moan that resembles a scream. 

Zedaph lets his body go lax, lets his jaw open wide, despite the cock pushing so deep inside his mouth that it is making him tear up, and Grian shows his appreciation by thrusting just that  _ little _ bit further in and, for a second they stay like that, but then Zedaph feels something warm and salty as it hits the back of his throat, which prompts the tears into slipping down red cheeks, but when Grian moves to pull out with a long, almost pained sounding sigh, Zedaph whines, or, well, does so as best as he can with his mouth occupied.

‘...Don’t want me to pull out?’, Grian asks gently and Zedaph nods almost immediately, though it is a bit harder to do so without choking, given his current predicament. He can’t explain it, why he needs a moment, why he wants them to stay like that a bit longer, why keeping someone else pleased using his own body means so much to him, but it does and Grian seems to understand because he, too, nods and caresses Zedaph’s cheeks, his eyes quite a bit warmer now, even with his face still flushed pink and his lips bitten into a cherry red colour from having tried to keep some of his moans in, Zedaph presumes.

‘Ok, then’, Grian says, after a moment of consideration, and Zedaph closes his eyes, allowing his own sensations to wash over him. He’s not allowed to come, he’s not allowed to follow suit yet, but his body feels like it is burning up, so maybe that is why he chooses to remain like this, with a cock down his throat, maybe he is just trying to help himself without any sudden changes, and the thought does seem a bit selfish, so Zedaph waits only a minute longer before pulling back, his eyes glued onto the floor. His tongue feels heavy and, without the satisfaction of an orgasm, he almost feels dirty, but it’s not bad, maybe.

Steadier hands than his own pull Zedaph up to his feet, but he still doesn’t look at Grian, blaming it on the somewhat embarrassing predicament of still being hard after all this, even if Zedaph knows, deep down, that it isn’t that.

Grian rubs his shoulders gently and, with whispered nothings that manage to calm Zedaph down a bit from the odd place his mind finds itself in right now, he leads him towards the bed, his pale, slim fingers cold where they touch Zedaph’s skin, stripping him of his clothes.

‘How was that, Zed?’, Grian asks once they are settled in bed, Grian’s back to Zedaph’s chest, arms thrown around each other, and Zedaph feels like his skin is too big for his body, even when his arousal has flagged, so he takes a breath, takes another one when the first one feels too shallow, and hugs Grian closer to him, almost clinging to the warmth of another body.

‘G-good...’, Zedaph’s voice is still raspy, but he can feel Grian nod from where his head is tucked under Zedaph’s chin, so Zedaph allows a small smile onto his face. He feels unreasonably tired, but that’s alright.

Grian cuddles back into him and, after carefully shutting his own brain off as best as he can once Grian begins peacefully snoring in his arms, ignoring the noise his thoughts are making, Zedaph allows sleep to take him too.


	4. Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Grized (sexual, platonic)

The next day brings with it something completely new, something unexpected, because as Zedaph strains his eyes open, his skin covered in goosebumps due to the colder morning air that, in his still half unconscious state, Zedaph doesn’t realise should be warded off by the duvet Grian’s bed is equipped with, but after squirming and still trying to sleep on for a little longer, Zedaph reluctantly blinks and takes in the world around him through blurry eyes. 

The bed’s canopy and the ceiling register in his mind as splotches of dark wood and light paint, but there’s something else too,  _ someone _ else, and they stand just off to Zedaph’s right, leaning over him, their colouring, pale skin, dirty blonde hair, dark eyes, making their identity all the more obvious. Zedaph closes and opens his eyes a few more times, if only to clear his vision, but when he  _ can _ finally make out the details of Grian’s face, Zedaph notes the cheeky smile stretching across his features and the way in which he is looking down at Zedaph with a giddiness that only draws confusion from Zedaph. Either Grian had woken up in a good mood or maybe he has something planned for the day, Zedaph decides and, selfishly, he hopes he won’t be left alone for too long, though he wouldn’t necessarily mind visiting the kitchens again. Zedaph smiles.

And then he frowns.    
His predisposition registers in his brain, as Zedaph attempts to sit up and, shockingly,  _ can’t _ . He’d probably panic due to his movement being restrained, but it doesn’t take Zedaph longer than a few seconds to realise that he is  _ literally  _ restrained, something soft and almost delicate in its weaving wrapped around his wrists, which are bound together against his chest. The duvet is pooling around Zedaph’s waist, which also explains the way his upper body shivers due to the temperature and, after settling back down against the pillows and wondering if this is what Grian wants to do for the day, Zedaph fixes him with a confused look and a small, still sleepy smile.

‘There you are’, and Grian’s grin turns a bit softer, a bit warmer, a bit more  _ genuine _ as he brings a hand to Zedaph’s cheek, patting the side of his face gently, ‘How’s this for a morning? Are you comfortable?’

Zedaph laughs a little breathlessly then. He isn’t protesting, is he?

He can’t quite sit up as he is, but Zedaph does let out a little groan as he stretches his back and shakes his shoulders, holding a yawn in. Grian’s hand moves down, then, cold fingers sliding over chilled skin almost playfully, ending their path at Zedaph’s chest, tracing over a nipple softly. Zedaph shudders, but doesn’t say anything, allowing it to happen and almost melting against the mattress.

‘Come on, I’ll need your words today, Zed’, Grian coos and, with a swift set of motions, he props himself up in Zedaph’s lap, as naked as Zedaph himself is, but Zedaph can only focus on his face, on the tender smile there, on the smoldering eyes. When Zedaph’s silence continues, Grian pinches the nipple between two fingers and the aforementioned silence is suddenly shattered by a high whimper. Zedaph feels his face heat up and, after that, his words fall from his lips without any sort of filter.

‘Y-yes, I’m good, I...’, Zedaph takes a deep breath and Grian releases his nipple, only to spread out his palm over Zedaph’s chest, ‘More… P-please?’

Zedaph’s voice is still rough with sleep, but the stutter has nothing to do with that. Grian’s hand twitches where it is laid and, before Zedaph can even react, Grian’s face is right next to his, his lips brushing against the shell of Zedaph’s ear as he whispers his response. Zedaph’s own hands clench into fists where they are bound and Grian’s fingers brush against his wrists in a soothing way.

‘I will. Today is all about what you can take, my dear friend…’

And if that doesn’t send a shiver down Zedaph’s spine, the lack of contact does as Grian, all of a sudden, pulls back, sitting on his knees above Zedaph, the darkness of the room, curtains still drawn and the fire in the corner still too dim to do much against it, not enough to extinguish the delighted spark in Grian’s eyes. The look has Zedaph’s blood growing warm, has his whole body tensing up just so.

The duvet is pulled back entirely then, without any warning, giving Zedaph no time to slowly adapt to the cold, and Grian grabs the corners of it, holding the fluffy material in his hands as he heads towards his, and Zedaph blinks, a bit dazed, a bit too caught up in the sensation of his own flesh trembling against the sudden cold,  _ desk _ .

Grian drapes the duvet over the back of his desk’s chair before, in all of his naked glory, bending over and adding a few more logs into the fireplace. Zedaph almost feels as though he should look away, but he can’t help but focus on the supple, nicely formed curves of Grian’s body, elegant, lithe muscles beneath his skin shifting as he moves, his appearance similar to that of a dancer’s, willowy but strong. Zedaph gulps and takes another breath, but doesn’t have time to gather his wits about him because, as he rummages through the drawers of his desk, looking all too focused on the contents, almost fascinated, oddly enough, Grian addresses him again.

‘Zedaph?’

Zedaph closes his eyes and hums to show that he is paying attention, which Grian takes as cue to continue, his voice sweet like honey, but smooth like sharpened metal against an unprotected throat, glistening and sharp and mesmerising with its dangerous edge. Zedaph cannot deny the fact that, despite not having been touched, not much, at least, despite the lack of any serious stimulation, just waking up like this, tied up and helpless, with Grian watching him, has him already hard and aching, his nerves waiting for a spark to go up in the fires of ecstasy.

‘How do you feel about pain?’

And, just like that, Zedaph mewls as he feels the way his dick twitches, the way his thighs squeeze together where he’s drawn his legs up with the intention to, not so successfully, conceal his own arousal, and it’s like he is already dangling over the edge, just from imagining what Grian might do to him. Zedaph hadn’t lied when he’d said that he would prefer Tango and Impulse be rougher with him, that they take what they want from Zedaph without the veneer of gentleness, and thinking about them doesn’t help Zedaph keep his own straying mind under control, quite the opposite, actually, and the prospect of getting that need that he’d ignored for a while now fulfilled has Zedaph’s hands straining against the bonds that he only now realises are made out of rope, fine rope, for sure, the type of rope that is used more so for decoration than it is for its strength, which works just fine for Zedaph, because the material feels good tied around his wrists, but rope nonetheless.

Oh,  _ Gods _ .

Grian is still awaiting an answer, however, is leaning against his desk, a few objects that Zedaph can’t quite distinguish from where he is lying down in bed held in his arms, and Zedaph has to shake his head before he can even attempt to put his thoughts into words.

‘I… Don’t hate it’, is the understatement Zedaph settles on and the way Grian smiles at that, the way he pushes himself off and away from the desk and saunters over is beautiful in its own right, nearly sinful with the promise written in his easy movements, but Zedaph’s eyes widen as, with every step closer, the objects he is holding turn out to be items that Zedaph can recognise and, most certainly, he is as confused as he is absolutely, irrevocably turned on.

‘Well, then today shall be a day full of discoveries’, Grian giggles as he comes to sit next to Zedaph again, allowing the items to spill onto the bed. The same oil bottle as the one from before is something Zedaph recognises with a sharp inhale, as is the polished, wooden plug, but everything else is new, everything else is  _ exciting _ . The glint of metal catches his eyes, as does the bright red block of wax, but Zedaph has to close his eyes before he overwhelms himself.

‘I’ve got places to be later in the day, but for now, you’re all  _ mine’ _ , Grian whispers in his ear and Zedaph nearly jumps because Grian’s voice is much closer then he remembers it being before. Opening his eyes reveals the fact that Grian is leaning over him again, his face barely a breath away and Zedaph almost wants to melt into his pillows more, but he already feels like his limbs are nothing more than lead weights.

‘So what are y-you… What is your plan?’, Zedaph dares to ask and Grian looks over at the items scattered onto the bed, his eyes widening and his smile turning sharp as he spots something he likes, Zedaph assumes, but before he can follow Grian’s gaze, a hand grabs him by the chin and turns his head until Zedaph is looking back up at the ceiling.

Zedaph lets it happen and, as the grip turns softer, a thumb moving upwards to trace his bottom lip, Zedaph relaxes, his fingers unclenching and the rope loosening as he no longer strains against it. 

Then there is the cold edge of a blade pressed against Zedaph’s side.

He gasps and his back arches at the surprising sensation of it, accidentally driving the tip of it deeper into his skin, enough that the slight press of it turns into the sting of a fresh wound being opened. It’s not enough to make him bleed, but, and Zedaph looks down with narrowed eyes, brows drawn up, it  _ is _ enough to leave a pink line behind as Grian moves the small, dull dagger downwards. There’s a tissue damp with something that smells like alcohol next to Zedaph and he can tell that the blade had been wiped clean, so he lets himself stop worrying as the metal moves lower and lower, reaching his hip bones and curving around his body so that it can leave its mark just below his belly button too.

‘G-Gri’, Zedaph moans, his eyes closing on instinct as the blade leaves his skin and he can feel the way Grian’s hand on his face traces the edge of his jaw gently, as if to contradict the sharp pain of the dagger.

‘I won’t cut, but I know people like the scratch of a knife’, Grian explains in a soft voice, one dipped in sugar and venom, one that is kind and nearly sadistic with Grian’s own desire, ‘How does it feel?’

To say that Zedaph arches up  _ into _ the dagger is the closest thing that can even begin to describe his feelings surrounding the pain as, because the fire of it when the knife is moving is almost too much, something that makes Zedaph flinch, but the soreness of the dagger’s path carved, albeit lightly, into his body is almost addicting, as though his nerves cannot distinguish between the pain and the pleasure, as if the burn, once left to simmer, is enough to ignite Zedaph’s arousal. It  _ is _ .

‘I want to hear your lovely voice’, Grian warns, when Zedaph seems to lose himself to his own sensations, but the way in which he chooses to show his displeasure is pressing the dull edge of the dagger against a peaked nipple, very softly pressing against it, the cold blade barely making contact with the pink bud, but it is enough to have a cry ripped right out of Zedaph’s throat. Thankfully, Grian pulls the knife back just before Zedaph can press his chest into it, his body unconsciously seeking the even hotter sting of an actual cut, but Grian doesn’t allow it, no, he clicks his tongue and it is enough to make Zedaph flinch. He looks up at Grian and the disappointment on his face makes Zedaph want to curl in on himself, but his arousal is still controlling his body, so he simply lets his legs fall open, as if that would appease him, and though Grian looks down for a second, his fingers twitching around the hilt of the dagger, as though the image of red against Zedaph’s thighs does as many things to him as it does to Zedaph, he simply shakes his head.

‘Oh no, Zed,  _ no _ . You will only take what I give you, nothing less, nothing  _ more _ ’, Grian says casually as he lets the dagger slip through his fingers, but he is also once more leaning over Zedaph, murmuring lowly, softly, ‘Even so, pain play is something you build up to, not something you should overwhelm yourself with right off the bat.’

Zedaph shivers as Grian settles himself between his open legs, both of his hands slipping down to the soft insides of his thighs, which makes Zedaph exhale slowly.

‘And I  _ have _ got something else in mind for you.’

Zedaph perks up at that, as does his painfully hard cock, and maybe Grian can feel it against his own abdomen, because he presses himself even closer to Zedaph, the much needed contact even more painful than the knife had been, maddening in the way in which it teases Zedaph with a pleasure that Zedaph cannot let himself have, lest he disobey Grian’s first orders.

Grian makes sure that Zedaph is distracted by bringing his lips to the side of his neck, nibbling at the warm skin there gently enough that it makes Zedaph lose his mind a little bit with the softness of the touch and, while Zedaph bites his lips and tries to not tense up even more, his hands caught between their chests and almost aching to move down and wrap around his cock, which would be quite awkward given his restraints, Zedaph realises he needs it, he needs  _ something _ more. Grian’s own lower body rubs against him, but he is only half hard, which almost makes Zedaph want to get down on his knees for him again, makes him want to stroke his cock to full hardness before doing whatever Grian wants him to do, whether that means fucking him, being fucked by him because, at this point, Zedaph would take  _ anything _ .

But Grian keeps biting at his neck sensibly, leaving a collar of pink kisses across his throat that will fade given a few hours and, for a moment, Zedaph’s mind blanks, his eyes closing and soft whimpers leaving his lips as he just lays there, overwhelmed with how these soft touches are driving him up the wall. Well, metaphorically, at least, he is still bound and pinned to the bed.

‘Grian,  _ Gri _ , please…!’, Zedaph begs, trying to move his hips up, but despite Grian being smaller than him, if slightly, he is used to combat, he has a force to his thin form that he uses to pin Zedaph’s hips down with his own. 

And then Zedaph hears the sound of a match being lit. As quickly as Grian had moved himself down to play with Zedaph’s already heated body, he is drawing himself back again and Zedaph has no choice but to open his eyes and to look up at the man sitting between his legs, a match in one hand, a red block of wax that Zedaph realises is an oddly shaped candle in his other, but Grian looks almost menacing like that, the small flame flickering in the reflection of his eyes, his features lovely and nearly twisted in something more maddening with the red and yellow hues bouncing off of it.

‘Dear G-Gods, is that a  _ candle _ ? Grian, why-’, but Grian is already lighting the weird candle and blowing the match out, crushing it between slim fingers and leaning over Zedaph again, ‘I, uh,  _ why _ though?’

And Grian, not surprisingly, giggles, but his eyes are fixed on the candle, on the little flame with a gleeful smile, just before he extends his own hand out and angles the candle so that a drop of crimson wax can fall right on his own skin. Zedaph flinches, imagining the unpleasant way in which hot wax sticks to the skin, the too high heat of it, but Grian’s only reaction is a soft exhale before he brings an arm to Zedaph’s chest, right where his heart is, pressing him down into the mattress.

‘This is a special candle, Zedaph’, Grian explains patiently, slowly, but his voice is as breathy as it is dark. He sounds  _ excited _ , ‘It burns at much lower temperatures and it has a different composition. It is used for temperature play.’

And Zedaph has to tilt his head, aware but ready to lie about how the coil in his stomach gains an extra twist because, well, that doesn’t sound too bad, maybe it’s the same as the pain from the knife, something that hurts, at first, but numbs the nerve, something that makes him crave more, something that manages to mix pleasure into the unexpectedness of it, something-

Grian tilts the candle again, without saying anything else, but it’s barely enough to allow a single drop to spill over and hit the soft skin of Zedaph’s lower stomach, the heat of it not as extreme as what Zedpah had expected, but still  _ almost _ too much. It makes the muscles of his abdomen bunch up and, despite that, despite the suddenness of it, Zedaph lets out a high moan, throwing his head back, his arms, bound though they still are, moving up so that they rest above his head. 

‘How’s that?’, Grian asks as he moves around to hold Zedaph’s hands pinned there with one of his own, moving his hips slightly, enough to brush against Zedaph’s dick, but Zedaph doesn’t think he can say anything, not when his chest feels this tight, not when he is a wrong move away from coming from a godsdamned candle, of all things.

And Grian, unsurprisingly, given his bastardly nature, just smiles down at Zedaph, thrusts his hips forward and angles the candle down again, drawing a whole line in red down his abdomen. It ends up reaching just above his pelvis and Zedaph almost wants to thrust up because of how his body is reacting, sweat gathering at his temples, his breathing having gone from soft panting to harsh wheezing in a matter of seconds. Zedaph would have never thought that he would become such a mess because of wax alone, but if he is being fair, he hasn’t come in four days, and though that wouldn’t normally be a big problem, he’s gone for much longer without even getting aroused, the events of the days leading up to this very moment have been nothing if not sexual in nature, and the tension rising beneath Zedaph’s skin as more wax droplets move back up his torso together with Grian’s hand, some of them landing across his sensitive nipples, is one that goes deeper than any sort of orgasm denial he’s ever experienced before. 

Zedaph isn’t sure what would make him break quicker, getting relief right now or continuing to climb further up without it.

But Grian continues with the wax, keeps on drawing random shapes with it on Zedaph’s body, moving against him whenever Zedaph gets too restless because of it, right up until Zedaph is left a shaking, moaning mess beneath him and the candle is nothing but a half melted stub, but once he blows the tiny flame out and the room, now a bit lighter than it had been due to thin blades of sunshine slipping through the still closed curtains, almost spins with the simple change around Zedaph. Or maybe he is just too stimulated, but that is nothing new. Still, he whines as Grian places what has remained of the candle down and runs his hand over Zedaph’s chest, his grip on Zedaph’s bound hands tightening, but Zedaph feels the way the small, now cooled down puddles of wax tug at his skin in a way that, were Zedaph not so sensitive right now, wouldn’t do much for him, but as it stands, it makes his eyes roll back and nearly makes him scream as the strips of red on his nipples are pulled right off.

‘So good for me, that’s it, that’s it...’, Grian whispers as he pushes Zedaph up, helping prop him against the pillows that he neatly arranges between Zedaph’s back and the headboard and, as he grabs another piece of rope from the miscellaneous items on the bed, Zedaph’s body just softens further into oversensitivity and he begins letting out these soft little noises that have Grian patting his thigh as he loops the new rope around his wrists and ties them up to the canopy’s wooden frame, so that Zedaph can well and truly lean back and let himself melt, ‘How are you feeling?’

And Grian is doing something, is shuffling through the objects still placed on the bed, but Zedaph takes the moment to try and put himself back together, despite the way he can still feel the burn of his skin due to the dagger, the tenseness of his muscles that continues even after there is no more wax being dripped down on him, but as he rubs his legs together, his cock still too hard to be comfortable, Zedaph realises that he’s never felt more at ease, has never felt so in tune with his own body, his mind only focused on what he is feeling and what he can experience of the world around him, how loud Grian’s breathing is, how, the more the day progresses, the more the room around them warms up, if slightly, how he can just sit there and  _ feel _ .

‘G-good… It’s nice, Gri...’, Zedaph says quietly, almost unable to hear himself, but the pleased hum Grian lets out is enough to confirm that his answer has been received clearly enough. Then, just as Zedaph brings his attention back on Grian, to the way the thin stripes of light from outside that just barely protrude through the curtains make the messy waves of his hair stand out, to the gentle smile on his face, something clicks.

And he realises it, after a few moments of the silence continuing to fill the space between them, even if Grian is looking at him with a fond look in his eyes, that Grian had said he’d have to leave soon, that he’d probably indulged Zedaph more than his schedule could afford and, surprisingly, it isn’t the looming feeling that he can barely keep his mind off of when being alone becomes a prospect in his mind that Zedaph feels, no, in his brain, right now, Zedaph just feels the gentle waves of something more soothing lapping against his skin, rather than the darker thoughts that being alone always seems to awaken in him. Then, Grian is extending a hand towards him, his cold, slim fingers tracing the lines of Zedaph’s throat slowly, stopping at a pulse point and just lightly pressing there as he speaks.

‘I think it would be good if we took a break now and continued this…  _ Journey _ , as it were, once I have returned. What do you say, Zed?’

And Zedaph just leans into the touch, but he is frowning, his body tensing up as a shudder runs down his spine, leaving him slightly colder than he had realised he already was and turning the almost knee-jerk mental reaction into words before Zedaph even has time to process what he is saying, to his dismay.

‘I-... W-wait…  _ Please _ ’, but he isn’t even sure if Grian can understand what he is saying because, even to Zedaph’s own ears, his speech sounds slurred and too quiet in the empty room. He is proven wrong when Grian just hums, his black eyes lost in a thoughtful expression, his fingers tightening minutely around Zedaph’s throat, his caresses now a firm hold.

‘Wait?’, Grian sounds incredulous as he asks and his face turns just a bit colder, but he is grinning and Zedaph feels the way his body softens, either from the slight loss of air or the sensations that seem to still run rampant, despite the lacking stimulation,‘Is this you asking for us to stop or for this to continue?’

He has to take a moment to think, but his thoughts are muddled by the sensitivity of his skin, by the tingling nerves, the softly spasming muscles, and, in the end, Zedaph still answers only with his own pleasure in mind, despite a voice at the back of his mind telling him something, warning him maybe. Zedaph ardently ignores it in favour of his own need, his own current arousal.

‘C-continue…? I still feel...’, Zedaph gulps and blinks as the hold around his neck loosens, only to tighten even more than before, leaving Zedaph to choke on a moan, because words escape him, the dizziness raising the heat of his body even more, and he rubs his thighs together, grabbing Grian’s attention for the barest of seconds before his grin sharpens with delight, something new sparking in his gaze, ‘I just… How long will you be gone for?’

The question lingers in the air between them, but soon enough, Grian is pulling back, as is his hand, for which Zedaph whines a bit, but even that sound is interrupted by a sharp gasp as that cold touch returns to his body in the form of two fingers pressing against his lower abdomen, almost making Zedaph jump of the bed.

‘You would like to bask in this headspace for a bit longer, I presume?’, it sounds like Grian knows exactly what Zedaph is talking about and, before Zedaph has a chance to speak or nod or  _ breathe _ , Grian’s hand travels down,  _ down _ , until two of his fingers are softly caressing his hole, but not pushing in. Zedaph’s whole body goes entirely still, but his muscles tense with how hard he is trying to keep himself from falling over the edge because, right now, it feels like that little touch, that gentle affection against where he is most sensitive, is all Zedaph needs, and it nearly  _ hurts _ , the way pleasure slams into him, making his legs fall open before Grian.

‘Not long’, Grian muses, pushing down a little harder and,  _ Gods _ , Zedaph just wants him inside, wants to be filled and he makes that quite clear in the way his hips shift subtly off of the bed in small movements, ‘Two hours at most, one, should everything go according to plan.’

Zedaph thinks and allows himself to sink into his own body just as Grian’s fingers finally breach him, the stretch slightly uncomfortable, but nothing Zedaph can’t take, nothing Zedaph doesn’t  _ enjoy _ . He tries to move so that Grian can reach deeper, but another hand that suddenly takes hold of his hip stops him all too suddenly. Zedaph wants to whine at that, but his face is red in embarrassment at being this needy, so he simply bites his lip and looks up at Grian with wide eyes.

Zedaph tries to get his muscles to relax and he halfway succeeds when, without any warning, Grian slowly starts pulling his fingers out before roughly thrusting them back in and Zedaph does his best to keep his noises to himself, bites his lip until he tastes the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, but Grian’s hand returns, tightens around his throat even more, as if he were displeased. Zedaph’s vision darkens a bit, but his body also jolts with the pressure that increases in his belly, the waves of heat crashing against him making him close his eyes as every single muscle in his body tightens up.

And then all stimulation stops.

Zedaph lets out a long, raspy breath as he feels his entrance clench around nothing, as air flows in his lungs unrestricted, as his body is left twitching freely, only his hands still restrained above his head. He wants,  _ needs _ more and he isn’t sure how to vocalise that. Zedaph still has his eyes closed and, when he hears shuffling and the way the mattress moves slightly, he assumes that, realistically, whatever he may desire, there’s not time for it, so he prepares himself for the feeling of hands on his wrists, untying the rope, still keeps his eyes closed, hoping that a lack of sight might help prolong the pleasantly tingling feeling buzzing just under his skin, the one that keeps him suspended just above what he really craves, to go over the edge. But he  _ can’t _ .

And yet, Grian doesn’t untie him, doesn’t even touch him, but the sound of things being moved around continues and Zedaph’s confusion almost overpowers the arousal, but it’s not quite enough for more than making him blink his eyes open, misty purple meeting glistening black half-hidden by light lashes, given the half-lidded way in which Grian looks at him, and he isn’t touching Zedaph, but he is sitting even closer now. The curtains had been drawn while Zedaph hadn’t looked and the way the golden light from outside, so contrasting with the moody atmosphere from yesterday in its warmth and brightness, hits Grian’s pale skin and makes him glow in the slightly darker room is almost ethereal. Black eyes shine a dark blue under direct sunlight and his playful smile is paired with a rosy sort of blush. Grian somehow looks both beautiful like this and so very dangerous still.

‘I could leave you like this, needy and waiting’, Grian hums, looking off to the side in a thoughtful manner, tapping a finger against his chin, but his breathy words almost seem to attest to a decision having already been made, ‘We could get right back into it once I return. And you look so pretty like this, too… Flustered and helpless, just wanting more...’

Zedaph shudders at the last part because he is, he  _ does _ , so of course, he pulls against the rope slightly, leaning forward as much as his bonds will allow him, which Grian stops with a hand pressing him back into the pillows and, suddenly, Zedaph feels something else press against his hole, something wet and smooth and much wider than Grian’s two fingers had been. 

‘A-ah’, Zedaph whimpers, his legs trying to close themselves, maybe out of a feeling of shame, but Grian grips a thigh in his other hand, nails digging into the soft flesh of it, keeping him open still, the object that is slowly making its way into Zedaph only now registering in his mind as the plug they’d used on their first day of activities, ‘Gri, what...’

But he can’t even continue with whatever he’d wanted to ask because, almost  _ too _ suddenly, it enters him fully and with the press against his prostate, Zedaph has to put all of his focus on not coming on the spot. Days of teasing and pleasure and stimulation without release weigh heavy on his body now and he can do nothing except look at Grian with pleading eyes, begging for something,  _ anything _ , but Grian’s expression doesn’t become any kinder, instead, in all his beauty, he looks even crueler than before.

‘Would you? Be good and wait for me, that is?’, Grian asks in his smooth, airy voice, his hands slowly snaking their way up Zedaph’s body until they reach his shoulders, using his grip on them to push him further into the pillows before he pulls himself back and just watches Zedaph as he squirms on the bed, every small motion making the plug inside him brush against his most sensitive spot. It’s like a pleasant torture, the sweet pain of denial, of a promise not soon to be fulfilled, of pleasure that, in this moment, feels like almost too much and yet not enough.

Zedaph murmurs something and Grian shakes his head, smiling gently, even if the edge of something in his eyes still shines through, taping Zedaph’s cheek.

‘Didn’t quite catch that’, he says and Zedaph has to take a shaky breath before he can even attempt to speak again, but it doesn’t help make his voice sound any less wrecked.

‘I’ll… I’ll wait... ’, Zedaph whispers softly and smiles, as best as he can, despite the sensations adding up and dragging him down to a place where the slightest touch is enough to make him release, ‘I’ll be g-good for you.’

* * *

Grian does tell him that he’s left a servant outside the bedroom, just as he tidies up everything, tying the laces of a loose shirt that he’s put on Zedaph to spare his sensibilities, the pants on him made out of the soft, silken material of undergarments, but Zedaph is still tied up, his legs still slightly spread and he is filled up to the brim, his rim stretched around the wide base of the plug, and Grian makes it quite clear, after Zedaph pouts a little at the prospect of anyone else seeing him like this, even if, deep down, something inside his mind is curious about such a scenario, the spark of interest arousing in its own right, that they weren’t one to judge, that they were someone Grian personally knows and that, is anything to happen, Zedaph shouldn’t hesitate to call out to them.

After all, Grian argues, leaving someone tied up, alone and in such a state as Zedaph is right now isn’t the wisest thing unless it is what is desired and Zedaph  _ knows _ he is right, but maybe it is some sort of shyness that keeps him slightly on edge when Grian leaves the room with a small wave and a kiss to Zedaph’s cheek.

And at first, it  _ does _ feel good, the restraints leaving him helpless and yet, in a way, the lack of mobility only serves to draw Zedaph deeper in the, as Grian had called it,  _ headspace _ that allows every sensation his body experiences to amplify itself via his own processing of them, the plug moving inside him at the slightest twitch, even the stretch of it, not necessarily just the way it reaches so deep inside him that it makes him choke on his own moans, feeling good,  _ great _ , even, and Zedaph basks in it.

With no one to watch him, he doesn’t have to try and hide the reactions that his body almost desperately exhibits, and at first, that is the most freeing feeling Zedaph experiences, what with him being tied up in bondage, still, but then, slowly, the warmth of his own body starts leaving him. 

The light in the room goes from pleasant and something beautiful, given the much darker weather these past few days, to something harsh, something that has Zedaph closing his eyes against it, even if the imprint of it remains in his visage still, the ropes, instead of being a point of support, both physically and mentally, as they had been, feel too tight all of a sudden, even if Zedaph knows that they had previously been loose enough that he had barely even noticed the texture of the rope, but they turn into something that makes Zedaph’s heart race in his chest, not from a rush of adrenaline, at least, Zedaph doesn’t think so, but rather, from some sort of rising feeling of panic and the plug almost feels too rigid, too cold and unmoving.

His skin is still tingling and his brain is still fixated on the pleasure but, gradually, it becomes too much, not something that he has to fight giving into, but something Zedaph wants to stop. He gasps, quietly, almost fearfully, and tugs at the ropes, shifts his legs on the bed and manages to, after minutes of trying and panting and  _ too much _ stimulation, tuck his legs against his body so that, even with his hands pulled above his head, he can bury his face in his knees and let out a long, warbled breath.

_ Too much, too much _ , keeps ringing in his head and Zedaph wants it to stop, tries to calm himself down and return to the buzz he had been feeling before, the one that had enveloped him like a warm blanket of sensuality, rather than what he is experiencing now, something that feels, no,  _ is _ too much, something that drowns him in sensations that Zedaph attempts to fight against but  _ can’t _ .

He remembers that there is a servant outside the room, but he can’t get his voice to work, instead, Zedaph tugs at the ropes even more, but they don’t give and, when he tries to slip his hands through them, they feel almost oppressive in the way he  _ almost _ manages to free himself, but can’t quite get the base of his hands to slide through without the restraints digging into his skin roughly. He can hear his own breaths quickening in pace, can feel the dizziness from breaths that are both too short to give him the air he needs and too fast-paced to control for longer than a few seconds at a time, but all that, Zedaph can still handle. It is when his thoughts start echoing in his panicked brain that Zedaph feels the sting of tears in his eyes, a lump in his throat that he can’t get rid of no matter how much he tries to swallow it down and clear his throat only accentuating the breathlessness.

_ You said you’d be good _ , Zedaph opens his eyes suddenly and shakes his head, gasping as that only makes the uncomfortable feeling of existing in his own body right now even worse, his heart clenching and his extremities running cold, despite the room being significantly warmer due to the sunlight pouring through the windows,  _ And yet, look at you _ .

Zedaph can almost hear himself whisper a string of no’s that are not nearly loud enough for anyone outside of the room to hear, but for a second, it is enough to drown the voice out. He shuts his thoughts down, he thinks about anything and everything else, looks at the room’s decorations, sits completely still so that he cannot feel anything that will bring him back, but it doesn’t work.

His thoughts only return louder and harder to ignore, harder to push away, despite how well Zedaph can usually quiet them down and, if he is feeling good, even discredit their overanalysed logic of things he assumes about his own presence, but he feels vulnerable right now and they sound painfully honest.

_ You wonder why they don’t take what they want from you, but you can’t handle it _ , Zedaph gasps and his feelings for his lovers turn against him, what would usually be a pang of pain that is caused by missing Tango and Impulse turning into a stab of the knife his mind is pushing right through his heart,  _ You never could do what people wanted of you. Quite selfish, aren’t you? _

Zedaph whimpers and blinks against the rapidly forming tears, looks up at the ceiling when that doesn’t work and keeps his eyes wide open because he knows that, were he to close them, the exact visual of how  _ useless _ he is when it comes to doing what he is told would flash before his eyes, sending him further down the spiral his thoughts are building for him. Still, almost like a mirage, he sees himself on his knees, with tears in his eyes, asking for more, if only because he feels like he isn’t giving enough of himself, he sees a younger Zedaph awake in the middle of the night, studying some books his mother had given him in order to impress her with dark bags under his eyes, despite knowing that nothing short of him prompting some sort of miracle would be enough for her, he sees himself right now, after having  _ asked _ to be left like this, but panicking the moment he is left alone and isn’t that the root of the problem?

Zedaph draws a sharp breath in and holds it, holds it because he feels the sobs building up in his chest and he is afraid of someone hearing him, but having no air doesn’t help him feel less like he is falling down, down,  _ down. _

_ You crave affection, need people around you _ , and he does, more than anything else, because he feels like, to the world at large, he doesn’t have anything to give. He isn’t a noble anymore that could offer financial aid, he isn’t an inventor that would move society further, he isn’t a scholar, he is nothing special and it  _ hurts _ , but it is the truth, so of course, Zedaph gives everything else for the barest scrap of something in return, his heart, his body, his time, his comfort, everything he has.

But he is alone now, he is alone and he is failing in doing what he’s been told to do, failing in being good for Grian. Impulse and Tango had probably not stopped being rougher with him because of inexperience, they’d probably just seen what a mess Zedaph already was and decided they don’t want that on their hands. Zedaph can’t blame them.

_ But you can’t do anything, you don’t deserve the attention, so why are you so shocked and hurt when you are alone? _

Zedaph starts shaking then, pressing his face even harder into his knees, almost as if he were hiding himself, making himself as small as he feels.

But it’s fine,  _ Zedaph  _ is fine. He will gather his wits about him and wait patiently until Grian returns. Maybe then, he can serve Grian as he had the day before and the emptiness in his chest will be filled by the joy of satisfying someone else, of the praise, by the affection he would get for it, if he does a good job of it, if he is obedient enough, receptive enough.

* * *

Grian doesn’t return after the two hours he’d mentioned and, instead, the servant that, Zedaph assumes, had waited outside, comes in and unties him, no judgement to be found on their face, but Zedaph sees the world from far away somehow, is mentaly distant from it, and even he catches the explanation of ‘his majesty encountered an unexpected issue, which might delay him until late into the night’, Zedaph only feels himself nod to them and sees his hand move as he waves them off politely.

The panic had faded, the thoughts had quieted down, but in their place, something numb is left instead. None of his ‘realisations’ had been revelatory, Zedaph likes to think of himself as quite introspective, he thinks a lot, even when he doesn’t want to and he wonders how much worse it would have been if something like this had happened while he’d been with someone else, or perhaps worse,  _ alone _ , but it doesn’t matter. 

It doesn’t matter, so Zedaph grabs a new, more formal change of clothes from his chest, which he finally carries into the wardrobe, almost disgusted by leaving his own imprint on the pristine room, which is why he also gathers up the pieces of rope and deposits them into Grian’s desk, why he makes the bed before leaving. Removing the plug is slightly more difficult because the pleasure feels uncomfortable right now, but it still doesn’t take too long. He thinks that being around other people might help with the void in his heart, so soon enough, Zedaph heads for the kitchens.

And it does help, he doesn’t say much and, as pathetic as it sounds, he thinks that the kitchen staff notices something is wrong, but that doesn’t mean Zedaph doesn’t enjoy the softer words, his brain still reeling a bit and overreacting at louder sounds, but doing something, right now, is what keeps his thoughts quiet.

It is meat that they prepare today and Zedaph doesn’t mind the fact that, similarly to yesterday, he returns to Grian’s chambers just as the servants are lighting the candles up and drawing the curtain closed. The sky is still clear, Zedaph notices while passing some of the windows that have yet to be attended to, the vastness of the night sky decorated with thousands of glittering stars, something Zedaph would find beautiful and, even now, he does, but the awe of his feelings is muted, slightly grey around the edges. He stares at the sky blankly before moving on.

Once back in the king’s chambers, Zedaph seriously considers just grabbing his things and moving into the guestroom just next to Grian’s bedroom, even if a quieter voice in the back of his mind says that, with the weather being gentle tonight, he might just leave as well, quietly taking another weight off of his friend’s already burdened shoulders by extricating himself from the picture, but Zedaph is aware that he would regret doing that once he gets his feet back under him.

Instead, Zedaph changes into his night wear, ignoring the twinge of pain he feels at the thought of his lovers, and opens the window. There is no fire lit and, with nothing but the thin material of the shirt and the loose trousers, the cold air crawls under his skin and into his very bones, but Zedaph enjoys it. It calms him down, somewhat.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep on the window sill, shivering and hugging his knees to his chest, but that is exactly how Grian finds him, late into the night. 


	5. Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Grized (sexual, platonic)

He isn’t sure what had happened while he’d been sleeping, but one thing is for sure. It isn’t the cold that wakes Zedaph up, but rather, the almost offended sounding screech ringing right into his ears. That isn’t to say that Zedaph’s body hasn’t gone nearly entirely senseless due to the low temperature, rather, the way he’d already been feeling inside aligns with that very physical emotion more than Zedaph would like to admit, whilst the sound comes as a surprise. 

Slowly, purple eyes open up only to be met by almost complete darkness. Somewhere, at the edge of his vision, he can still see the, though it’s a bit blurred due to his sleep-addled brain, scenery from last night - evening? - the snow having gone from a sparkling gold as the last rays of the sun washed it over in colours warmer than any winter in their kingdom ever could be, contrasting with the cold air, to a deep blue beneath the dark night sky, only the stars and the sliver of a crescent moon giving off any light to counter the stretching shadows of what Zedaph assumes is late night, perhaps even early morning.

But that’s the background to the main object filling his field of vision, which is Grian’s face, inches from his, his brows drawn down in a furrowed look, his lips parted in both worry and something angrier than what Zedaph remembers ever seeing him express.

‘Zed,  _ what the fuck _ ’, he exclaims, his hot breath making Zedaph realise just how cold he really is, the white cloud of it around his face almost fascinating, what with Zedaph clinging to any distraction right now. But Grian doesn’t wait for an actual response, instead, he pulls Zedaph away from the window sill, keeping an arm around his shoulders as he stumbles on unsteady feet, but Zedaph doesn’t even get to ask why Grian sounds so mad or where he is taking them, because, after closing the window, drawing the curtains and getting a better grip on Zedaph, he leads them towards  _ somewhere _ .

‘Gods, you’re  _ freezing _ ’, Grian mumbles under his breath, slowly making his way across the room and to the door, opening it with one hand and fixing Zedaph with a look. It softens around the edges as Zedaph tries to stutter out a response, but nothing other than a small, glacial breath leaves his lips, his eyes struggling to stay open. They make it into the hall outside of Grian’s bedroom and it is here, when the warmth of the castle sets in, that Zedaph nearly collapses. His legs just don’t seem to hold him and his whole body is shaking with the shock that the change in temperature gives him, but he still tries to keep himself on his feet, despite the way the world starts spinning and wobbling before Zedaph’s very eyes.

It’s with a show of strength that Zedaph should have expected from someone that had led armies in the past due to his responsibilities as king, but somehow  _ hadn’t _ , that Grian more or less wraps an arm around Zedaph’s waist and half-carries him ahead to wherever they’re going, clicking his tongue at just how cold Zedaph feels against him. Zedaph would normally try to push himself onto his own legs despite the fading numbness leaving only a fizzling sort of pain behind and his fingers and toes feeling like they are on fire, but as it stands, he can do little but lean into the hold and, somehow, by the time they reach a beautifully panelled set of doors at the end of the hallway, Zedaph’s head ends up resting on Grian’s shoulder, his eyes closing and his thoughts silent. But they always are when someone is with him, so Zedaph doesn’t count that as a victory per se.

‘Here we are’, Grian mumbles and it doesn’t sound like he does it to be more explicit of their location, but rather, in order to help soothe Zedaph with the soft voice he uses. Zedaph had always liked his friend’s voice, has always liked hearing him sing or speak, but right now, it makes Zedaph feel even more sleepy, even if he knows he shouldn’t fall asleep right now, and Zedaph nods, or at least, tries to, his head feeling too heavy to move without some of the earlier dizziness returning.

Grian opens the door and Zedaph has to blink against the radiance of the room behind it because, though it only has a few candles lit in the scones set in metal on the walls, it’s walls are made out of white marble and, when compared to the dark wood and stone of the hallways, the room almost seems to shine. A mosaic floor made out of thousands of pieces of colourful stone and ceramic twines itself in patterns of flowers and natural elements, but what draws Zedaph’s attention so much so that, not without a bit of effort, he raises his head off of Grian’s shoulder to take the room in better, what gives the room’s purpose away is the giant porcelain bathtub sat in the middle of the room onto the vines of silver metal that form its legs and snake around its base in an artful way. Basins and faucets and little closets line the bathroom’s walls, but the edge of the bathtub, clearly big enough to fit more people than it is intended for by  _ far _ , Zedaph assuming that this must be the main room of Grian’s personal baths, is also almost artfully decorated with small glass bottles in all shapes and sizes, some meant to hold body oils, some soaps and all other sorts of things a king might need.

For a moment, he forgets why they might be here, though, to be fair, even if he is starting to piece together what Grian is doing, he’d never been explicitly told the reason for their little adventure, and all Zedaph can think about is how he doesn’t deserve to be in a place as nice as this.

‘Strip for me’, Grian says, plucking Zedaph right out of his own mind and placing him, both physically and mentally, back in the room. There’s a stool he is pushed to sit on and Zedaph does, not least of all because his knees feel tremble too much to keep him stable on his feet, but he is gawking at Grian. The royal outfit, with all its formalities, even the black crown sitting nicely on top of his head still, hints at the fact that he had just returned to his bedroom when he’d found Zedaph sleeping on the windowsill, but it is the pose, hands on his hips, expression hard, that makes Zedaph gulp and look down at his own naked feet. They look a bit purplish.

‘Zed’, but Zedaph doesn’t react, does nothing besides keep looking down, but then there is a hand in his hair and, though it doesn’t pull hard enough to bring Zedaph any pain, it raises his head up in a jerky movement, ‘ _ Zedaph. _ ’

But it’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, both of which he would have expected, it’s something softer, something pleading and Zedaph almost cannot stand to see that look in his friend’s eyes. 

Grian is worried.

Zedaph shakily stands up then and sighs. Grian stands just a bit taller than he himself is, given the shoes he is wearing, so Zedaph has to look up at him. Slowly, he pulls the shirt over his head and his hands are still a bit clumsy due to the cold, but soon enough, the fabric hits the floor and not long after, the pants follow suit. He is still shivering when Grian pulls him in a hug.

‘Zed... What was that about, my friend?’, and his arms tighten around Zedaph almost protectively. He feels warm, Zedaph muses, but he doesn’t react to the hiug,  _ can’t _ , because he feels like the dam of his emotions will break when he does. 

When he gets no response, Grian pulls back slightly, only to cup one of Zedaph’s cold cheeks and frown. Zedaph doesn’t know what he finds in his expression, but Grian doesn’t look too happy with it, so Zedaph is left to anxiously ponder it while Grian lets go of him with a sigh and turns around. He turns one of silver faucets placed just above the lip of the tub on and, with a sliver of steam that is swiftly thickening and filling the whole room with damp, misty air in a matter of minutes, the water begins flowing. Grian beckons Zedaph over with a look and, while Zedaph shimmies his way there, his face twisted with the guilt that is starting to shine through his facade due to the how much worry Grian seems to feel, but no sooner is he in reach of Grian does a hand settle on the small of his back and guides him into the tub. Zedaph wants to question it, especially as, with the warm water hitting his cold skin, it is only with a whimper that he continues forward, but Grian presses a finger against his lips and his hands fly to the laces of his own clothing, to the tiny buttons, efficiently removing all of the layers and allowing them to fall onto the floor.

Not a minute later, Grian is joining him in the water that, having gotten used to it slightly, now feels like paradise bottled into this very moment, and they sit opposite to each other, the tub deep enough that the water covers most of their bodies, but maybe out of a belated sense of embarrassment or just for his own enjoyment, Grian also upturns a small bottle of frothy liquid into the water. The effect is immediate in the foam spreading above the water’s surface and concealing anything beneath it. Despite a bit of distance still between them, the setting is intimate enough that Zedaph feels almost crowded when he draws his knees up to his chest, damp strands of hair falling into his eyes when he tilts his head down at his own lap, gathering some of the bubbly foam in one hand.

‘Can we talk?’, Grian does ask, eventually, and Zedaph almost flinches, but he stops himself at the last moment and simply lets himself sink deeper into the warm water before raising his gaze and meeting Grian’s relaxed, but slightly tense form, finely formed, lithe arms almost as pale as the marble behind him resting onto the edge of the tub, a knee peeking through the foam in front of him, ‘Please.’

Zedaph turns his head away and sighs. The more he thinks about everything that happened today, or is it yesterday by now, the more his shame grows. It hadn’t meant anything, he’d just overreacted, that is all. Not to mention that he’d simply fallen asleep next to the window, would have never intended for Grian to find him like this, to worry for him. Still, Zedaph closes his eyes and prepares himself to tell Grian that it’s all fine now, he’s doing better, the window had been an accident and that Grian shouldn’t be worrying about him.

No words make it past Zedaph’s lips, only a small, barely audible sob.

With wide eyes, Zedaph tries to cover his mouth and, subsequently, stop the shuttering effect that little sound has on all of the emotional barriers he’d already put up, but his mask is shattering before him and his face is twisting into something almost painful, something that steals his breath away. More sobs follow and Zedaph can’t get them to stop, they rip the air away from his lungs and only serve to make his shaking even worse. Zedaph curls in on himself, trying to get his emotions to stop from overflowing, but no matter what he does, they won’t stop and he-

He  _ can’t _ -

Grian is in front of him, not even a hair’s width away, within moments, both of his hands framing Zedaph’s wet face, Zedaph’s tears now freely rolling down his cheeks. He doesn’t try to pull Zedaph into a hug this time and Zedaph is glad, feels as though that simple gesture of affection, of warmth, would break him completely.

Still, Grian is there as he cries, gently strokes Zedaph’s face with careful fingers, coos almost inaudible words of encouragement to him and looks at Zedaph as though he were something precious, not with pity, not just with concern, but with sympathy. He doesn't stop immediately, despite trying to, but it feels like everything spills forward through stuttered confessions that are incomprehensible even to himself, whispered fears that are spoken too softly to be heard, muffled sobs and, slowly, all it leaves behind is true exhaustion. Zedaph is left drained and even more tired than before. Distantly, he wonders if Grian isn’t exhausting himself by being awake this late for him, because at least Zedaph had slept, somewhat, but Grian’s own duties had kept him up until this late.

Zedaph doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he does open them, prompted by thumbs swiping the tears away with soft motions beneath his eyes, Zedaph can barely make Grian out through the haziness the tears leave behind.

‘It was too much, wasn’t it?’, Grian whispers once he has Zedaph’s attention, his eyes softening as he pushes their foreheads together, wet hair sticking together, ‘God, it must have been...’

Zedaph tries to shake his head, but Grian smiles sadly at him and closes his eyes, sighing deeply and seeming to gather his wits about him. Zedaph still has his own arms wrapped around his knees, but when their legs bump together under the water, he almost welcomes the touch. He doesn’t want Grian to be sad about something that is entirely Zedaph’s own fault.

‘No, Zed. I  _ know _ you, I know how your mind gets. I shouldn’t have left you alone, I should have seen the signs’, Grian murmurs, his hands sliding down to Zedaph’s knees and moving them so that Zedaph is sitting against the bathtub still, his shoulders still hunched in, but with his legs out of the way, Grian gets even closer and Zedaph doesn’t deny his body the warmth of another person, not when he feels this fragile, even if he does try to negate Grian’s claims because Zedaph himself should know, should  _ be _ better by now.

Grian simply shakes his head and, with a sad smile stretching across his lips and his face moving even closer to Zedapph, bringing his lips to Zedaph’s still cold forehead in a small, gentle kiss, he continues speaking.

‘Pleasure, affection,  _ love _ isn’t something you need to earn, you know?’

It makes another sob escape past his lips and, with it, all of the defenses Zedaph might have still tried keeping up crumble like broken glass, leaving behind only shards that cut deeper than anything he’s felt before because a part of him wants to believe Grian, clings to his words, while another wants to deny them, wants to make it clear that, at least in his case, it isn’t true. With a whimper, however, Zedaph decides to trust Grian and, as he moves, the water from the filled tubs spills over just a little bit, but that doesn’t deter Zedaph from actually wrapping his arms around his friend, from holding onto Grian as his emotions settle around him, the room silent outside of the small sounds Zedaph himself is making and the blood rushing in his ears, his heartbeat too loud inside his own chest.

And Grian lets Zedaph hug him, he just raises himself until he is sitting on his knees and brings Zedaph’s head to his shoulder, his fingers gently carding through wet, dusty blonde hair, brings their bodies together in a way Zedaph hasn’t ever initiated for himself before and,  _ Gods _ , Zedaph doesn’t know if this is what he’d needed, but he feels safe.

‘That’s it… Let it out’, Grian whispers in his hair and tightens his grip ever so slightly, his other hand settling on Zedaph’s back and gently tracing his shoulder blades and the vertebrae of his neck with the sort of loving affection that Zedaph craves right now more than he does air. 

For a second, Zedaph does wonder if he deserves this, if he  _ actually _ deserves this, if Grian’s words ring true or if they are just a lie meant to comfort him, but then the second passes and though Zedaph knows he’ll continue having his doubts, though he knows how hard it is to actually change one’s perception of themselves, he allows himself to genuinely believe it, sinks further into the hug and sighs, quietly, almost afraid to be too loud right now. In return, Grian simply curls himself around Zedaph’s body and, with cautious movements, he settles himself in Zedaph’s lap, pulls back enough for Zedaph to get a better look at him and, if Zedaph’s body softens just a bit more at the sight of the kind smile on his face, then that is something only the two of them know.

The hand Grian has carding through the hair at the back of Zedaph’s head moves slightly, brushing a few strands behind his ear before cradling his face in the palm of his hand. Water droplets drip down from his own hair, the steam swirling around them in almost hypnotic clouds of white, but the warmth it provides can do nothing but help Zedaph relax further. There’s something akin to affection in his chest, but it’s not just directed at Grian because it’s something _ new _ and he’s always known that he loves his friend, no, it is something that Zedaph thinks might just be meant for himself. A bit of kindness that he wants to give future him, a bit of warmth that he wants to envelop his coldest thoughts into, a bit of love for himself, the type that he feels so rarely that it might as well be a fluke. But maybe he should embrace it.

‘I wish we’d talked about it sooner’, Grian says softly, his words more of a breathy whisper than anything and Zedaph listens, brings his hands to Grian’s hips and feels one of Grian’s own move there as well, the one not holding and caressing his face gently, their fingers entangling themselves against Grian’s skin, the water gently lapping at their bodies, ‘It’s not like mental health doesn’t affect sexual dynamics, you know?’

Zedaph nods. He thinks that, after all his thinking, after the recontextualisation of that thinking through the lense of Grian’s words, right now, he understands. There is a difference between understanding something and changing the way he thinks, Zedaph is aware, but it feels like something is shifting within him. Years of doubting his worth, his emotions, years of hoping that he’d be worth something don’t culminate in a single moment of revelation, but that mentality is slowly becoming something else. Over time, it is something that Zedaph will have to be mindful of, he knows, but right now,  _ this _ is safe and Zedaph just wants to learn, wants to know more. 

Grian looks at Zedaph, no, looks  _ through _ Zedaph and it almost seems like he himself gets lost in memories, his eyes glazing over ever so slightly, and hums thoughtfully. Zedaph has to tap a finger gently against Grian’s hip to bring him back, but it is with a shake of his head and a small, crooked smile that Grian begins talking again.

‘When I first started… Doing this’, and what  _ this _ is, Zedaph knows, the meetings, the lewder things, the  _ everything _ , so he simply listens intently and looks up at Grian, who is still propped in his lap, ‘It was, well, I guess it was more like some sort of coping mechanism for me.’

Grian takes a deep breath and the perfect arch of his back lessens, his shoulders drawn forward a bit, his head angled down and his eyes half-lidded with memories.

‘I wanted to feel good and I wanted something stable, something I could depend upon, something I could control, maybe. The Gods know, when I was first crowned, with all of the stress I had to deal with, what else was I to do than stumble into my own bed with a stranger and let them have their way with me?’, Grian chuckles a bit, though it sounds a bit sad and Zedaph leans his head forward again, his forehead meeting Grian’s sternum, the vibrations of both his heartbeat and his slightly more playful giggle something Zedaph leans into, ‘But it wasn’t the best thing. It took me…  _ Years _ to realise that, above all, both myself and my partners, we are all just people. People with needs and wishes and boundaries.’

Zedaph nods slightly and the hand Grian still has on his face pulls Zedaph’s head up so they can look at each other. Things are being laid bare between them and a new level of trust is being unveiled. Zedaph smiles a little, then, and it almost makes his face hurt because of how genuine it feels. The image of himself smiling like a fool with dried tear tracks still streaking down his cheeks has Zedaph almost bursting into laughter, but Grian’s fondness simply grows at that.

‘I wasn’t a very good teacher, was I?’, Grian asks, shuffling even closer to Zedaph, bringing both hands into Zedaph’s hair and holding him still when Zedaph tries to shake his head, ‘No, don’t argue. We should have talked about this before starting this whole journey.’

Exasperated affection is what Zedaph can see on Grian’s face and he doesn’t necessarily like it, so, after an almost humorous amount of inhales and exhales in order to actually gather enough words to speak, Zedaph just responds in the best voice he can muster, which is still softer than he’d like, but it’s a start.

‘But we’re talking now, aren’t we?’

Grian sighs at that, but the fondness seems to have returned and, when he brings their faces closer together again, it is with a sweet smile that he whispers against Zedaph’s lips.

‘You’re being too kind.’

And then Grian is leaving a small peck of a kiss on his nose and, given its unexpectedness, all it manages to do is have Zedaph break out into a giggling fit. Grian grins at that and, as though to keep the atmosphere between them in this warm place where they can just smile and laugh and feel good with each other, he makes it his mission to seemingly cover Zedaph’s whole face in small kisses, his cheeks, his forehead, the corner of his mouth, the soft edge of his jaw,  _ everything _ .

And Zedaph can’t help but laugh almost breathlessly, until he is all but wheezing against the bathtub and his hands are scrambling to push Grian off, but of course, Grian is qute persistent in his attacks and merely grabs Zedaph’s wrists, pinning them to the sides of the tub and moving his kisses to the side of Zedaph’s neck. The sound of laughter bounces off of the marble walls all around them, but it is once Grian reaches a more sensitive spot that Zedaph chokes on his own spit and a combination of a wheezing moan and a small mewl put a stop to everything.

They stare at each other for a second and Zedaph wonders, as his face grows entirely red, if he’s just ruined their good mood, but then, with a sheepish grin, Grian just delves right back in, kissing the same spot softly.

The weird mix of moans and laughter continues, despite how Zedaph tries to hold the sounds in and, once he does manage to keep himself quiet via biting his own lips and trembling as he tries to ward off his smile, Grian just raises an eyebrow, the line of his smile almost teasing, before, without any warning, he bites down onto that same sensitive spot against Zedaph’s neck. It’s not hard enough to be painful, but Grian makes sure that Zedaph feels the scrape of teeth against heated skin and what else can Zedaph do but let out a pitiful whimper? He feels the way Grian smiles into his skin when he starts nibbling on the skin surrounding his little bite mark, the touch of his lips and the carresses of his tongue soothing the barely there puncture wounds of his teeth, and Zedaph almost wants to roll his eyes, but it feels good, it makes Zedaph smile almost bashfully as he tilts his head slightly to the side so that Grian can have more access to his throat.

And, Gods, does Grian take advantage of that.

It’s like the small gesture awakens something in him because, just like that, the nibbles and licks and kisses turn into something just this side of rough. He is now biting and sucking on the wounds until Zedaph can feel the blood being pulled to the surface in what he knows will later become a series of small bruises, but Grian doesn’t stay in one place, no, he moves down Zedaph’s throat and bites at his collarbones too, makes sure that there’s is no inch of tanned skin left unmarked and, as he does this, Zedaph can only watch him through hazy eyes, with his moans almost too airy to be audible, but he knows that Grian hears him well enough because, whenever Zedaph makes a particularly loud noise, Grian just abuses whatever spot he is biting into even more, making Zedaph tense up against the bathtub. He is warming up from within now too, his blood flowing to lower parts of his body, his face not only red because of the temperature of the bath, but because of how much these things just make his body sing.

‘Hey, Zed’, Grian hums into his skin, moving higher into his lap so that his thighs can brush against what Zedaph had been subtly trying to hide by pulling his own hips back, but he just grinds into Zedaph’s growing erections and Zedaph has to bite back a mewl at that, ‘Would you like me to make you feel good?’

And Zedaph all but throws his head back at those words, a high-pitched moan resting just on the tip of his tongue when Grian all but bites into his nipple as he waits for a response. His hips move of their own accord however, seeking whatever friction Grian’s body against his offers and it is at that point that Grian begins grinning against his chest and, as he raises himself so that he is hovering above Zedaph, his lower half is still concealed by the water and foam, but Zedaph thinks he can almost make out the distinct shape of his hard cock through it all and the sight of it makes Zedaph’s body run even hotter.

‘P-please’, Zedaph moans through gritted teeth when Grian doesn’t even allow Zedaph to reach out and touch him, simply keeping his hands pinned to the bathtub still, but after hearing this, Grian pulls his mouth back after one last flick of his tongue against the sensitive nubs that are now a deep pink, just so he can look down at Zedaph and smile. He makes quick work of moving Zedaph’s hands around so that he can keep both of them in the grip of one hand and Zedaph almost wants to ask about it, but Grian just shakes his head slightly and stretches his now one free hand out to grab one the hundreds of colourful glass bottle lining the tub’s edge.

‘No, my dear friend‘, he speaks with a tone that is somehow both commanding and almost too sweet in its cadence as he manages to pop off the stopper of the bottle single-handedly and squeezes his fingers around Zedaph’s wrists, ‘You are to sit here and let me take care of you, yes?’

It’s with a shaky nod that Zedaph responds because, without waiting a second more, Grian manages to pour some of the liquid in his palm, though in the process, the bottle does end up splashing into the bath water, a scent of lavender and something more herbal filling the space around them, and then Grian is reaching behind himself, closing his eyes as he sighs.

Zedaph thinks his face must be entirely red by now because he can only imagine what Grian means by ‘taking care’ of him and it’s not that he is opposed to the idea, he isn’t, the thought of pale skin moving against him, of heat around his throbbing cock, of pleasure when he needs it most, even if he usually prefers to be on the receiving ends during such activities, has him almost losing his mind, but he is just a bit nervous. He doesn’t know what Grian expects of him, but he knows that, with how sensual this entire endeavour had turned out to be, Zedaph would be surprised if he lasted longer than a few minutes. His thighs quiver beneath Grian and it doesn’t look like Grian notices the way Zedaph fumbles with his own thoughts, and so, in an almost uncharacteristic manner, Zedaph speaks up. Or, well, whispers up would be a bit more accurate, because his voice is still not working too well, is caught on an edge.

‘I-if… Gri, I don’t think I’ll last.’

Grian blinks down at him and the dichotomy of the almost innocent, wide-eyed look on his face and the way his hand still moves behind him, his fingers probably working the oil into himself, is almost maddening, it draws a soft groan right out of Zedaph’s throat, but Grian begins smiling once more, almost as if he knows something Zedaph doesn't, is sheepish about whatever knowledge that may turn out to be and Zedaph can do nothing more except stare up at Grian with a confused expression and his lips bitten red due to how hard he is trying to keep himself at least slightly under control.

‘Well, see, here’s a thought’, Grian leans down and his hand finally moves again, resting against his hip, though Zedaph can still see the oil shining on it, which he assumes is more water resistant than he’d realised, but he is entirely and thoroughly distracted by Grian tracing the shell of his ear with a hot, wet tongue just before continuing, ‘Could you hold off on an orgasm for me a bit longer? Just today and tomorrow still. Then I’ll make sure to give you  _ all _ of the pleasure you could ever want, Zed.’

And by the Gods does he make it sound appealing. The rawness of the words, the almost pleading tone of them, it has Zedaph drawing in a sharp breath, especially as Grian finally moves again, lowering himself slightly, just enough that the tip of Zedaph’s cock is nudging the rim of his slippery entrance, which has Zedaph twitching almost violently, though Grian quickly regains control by tightening his grip around Zedaph’s wrists and biting into the lobe of his ear before trailing kisses down his neck again, lingering where the skin is already reddening from his earlier afflictions, making sure to deepen some of the forming bruises.

In the end, though Zedaph knows he is the one who should be making this choice, it is almost too tempting to just agree mindlessly, to do as he’s told, to be good, but he takes a moment to think about it still. Grian waits, his kisses turning more tender, making Zedaph shudder against the tub’s edge, Zedaph’s hands going nearly limp in Grian’s grasp. It’s this soft sort of attention that ruins Zedaph, after all, and it seems that Grian is all too aware of that.

‘Yeah… S-sounds good’, Zedaph says and smiles at his friend, even if it is the shaky sort of smile that is almost too hard to keep up when his whole body is thrumming with heat, but that seems to be the only thing Grian needs, because he is moving down now, twin moans of pleasure filling the room as their bodies meet. Zedaph swears his vision goes a little white, but he doesn’t even have time to adjust to the pressure around his dick because, suddenly, Grian begins moving, finally letting go of Zedaph’s hands and clinging to his shoulders instead.

Zedaph cannot even begin to wrap his head around how the heat of the baths makes him feel even more breathless, but with how Grian is moving, up and down, up and down, a rhythm already in place, he can only revel in the fact Grian swiftly takes control of their activities. Distantly, Zedaph thinks about how it feels more like Grian is fucking him than the other way around. With a soft moan, Grian stops for a second and Zedaph can tell he wants to say something, but they just look at each other as he catches his breath and, when he  _ does _ speak, his voice is rough with pleasure, higher and still breathy.

‘Eyes on me, pretty boy’, he says and it almost sounds menacing, were it not for how it is underlined by the almost groan-like tone of his voice, so Zedaph just tries to smile in return, but it’s hard when he feels like his head is spinning, like the tension is growing and he can’t do anything about, except for moving his hips slightly, but even that feels like too much when he knows that he can’t cross the edge. Thankfully, with another kiss to his cheek and a languid moan, Grian begins moving again.

Zedaph would normally be worried about all the water spilling over the edge due to their activities, but right now, he is wracked through by these sensations that he can’t help but lean even further into and he can’t help but hold onto Grian by his hips, trying to keep his grip from turning too tight due the rising tension in his body. He doesn’t even realise he is babbling out pleas and moans, is asking for more as much as he is begging Grian to slow down, but it is also a hand settling on his that almost breaks him out of the frenzied stupor of ecstasy he finds himself in, the fingers threading themselves through his. That hand then moves and, just like that, he finds himself with a dick in his own hand.

‘Please’, Grian whispers directly in his ear and Zedaph follows his orders, moves his hand slowly, carefully, before Grian throws off his rising rhythm and just sinks his teeth into the meat of Zedaph’s shoulder, though Zedaph isn’t sure whether it is to muffle his own cry or to get him to hurry up, so Zedaph begins pleasuring Grian according to the pace he himself sets with his movements, lean thighs tensing and relaxing with each flex of his muscles, each thrust downwards. Zedaph tries to grind up into the clutch of his body too, but it’s almost overwhelming, how  _ good _ Grian feels inside, how tight and warm he is. It isn’t long until Grian is murmuring sweet nonsense in his ear, rubbing the sides of their faces together in the way an overly affectionate cat would. But his hole tightens around Zedaph as he comes with a muted shout and Zedaph thinks he sees stars as he tightens his grip around Grian, wonders if this is how he’ll die, unsatisfied, but happy to provide at least. 

With gritted teeth, he stays completely still and pants softly, trembling as Grian comes down from his high, but even so, Zedaph sees the way the world spins around him and closes his eyes, allowing himself to sink further into the overstimulation. He is brought back to reality when Grian slips the still hard cock out of himself, not without a whimper coming from Zedaph, and just collapses against Zedaph instead.

Then he starts giggling. It’s not the joyous laughter from before, nor is it some polite chuckle that he’d act out awkwardly if a particularly unfunny guest would make a joke, it is, instead, the sort of exhausted little noise that is more air than it is sound and Zedaph exhales, slowly, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to relax his body, bringing it back down from its overstrung state, before he opens them again to a face-full of a blushing Grian, his eyes narrow with his smile, his hair wet and messy and his lips red.

‘I say we get our sorry selves in a bed, hm?’, Grian asks, still giggling softly and Zedaph just nods. He does feel like his legs will collapse under him if he so much as stands up right now though.

‘Think you might have to offer a hand again, I’m afraid...’, Zedaph explains and Grian shakes his head fondly. He doesn’t move from where he is leaning against Zedaph and he has to wonder if Grian is doing this for his own benefits or Zedaph’s. He swiftly decides that it doesn’t matter and just melts when Grian wraps his arms around him. Zedaph isn’t sure he’d told him that he’d like to be held right now, that he needs it, but it seems like Grian already knows. Even so, in the softest voice he can manage, Zedaph thanks him.

‘Thank you, Gri, for… For everything.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'i'm a sucker for doing what i'm told'  
> 'please, please, please, i'm being so good, i'm doing exactly as i'm told'  
> actual zed quotes, fyi lmao


	6. Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Grized (sexual, platonic), Gridoc (sexual, implied romantic), Doczed (sexual)  
> Featuring: Doc

It’s not that Zedaph doesn’t remember how they’d made it back to bed, he does, though the memory is more of a blurry mess, even if he can almost clearly hear his and Grian’s muffled laughter as they try to sneak their way back into the king’s chambers without being noticed, all while being as naked as ever, their clothes held in their hands, Grian pulling Zedaph along and helping balance him whenever he nearly trips over, which had happened an embarrassing amount of times, but right now, as Zedaph is slowly roused from his slumber, it doesn’t seem to matter much. The duvet covers him from neck to toes, his body warm and cozy under it, and his head is cushioned by a lean arm resting under it, the pillows cool and soft beneath his cheek still.

It is the small touches against the back of his neck that do the trick, Zedaph realises dizzily, his eyes struggling to remain open, small puffs of air being breathed into his skin and soft lips trailing down his shoulder, the person behind him nosing the covers down slightly, only to end up leaving a small bite where shoulder muscles meet neck tendons, Zedaph’s pulse quickening with the soft attentions. After a moment of confusion, Zedaph hears the giggle and sighs, both fondly and a bit exasperatedly, as he realises that it is Grian who is behind him, his other arm thrown over Zedaph carelessly and their legs intertwined beneath the covers. Grian’s only response is another nibble at his shoulder and Zedaph just closes his eyes again, letting out an even more exaggerated sigh than before, but he is smiling into the pillows. He then turns his head so that he can kiss the inside of Grian’s forearm.

‘Am I not allowed some more sleep, your majesty?’, Zedaph mumbles into Grian’s skin, making sure to make his voice sound as polite and formal as he can, though that doesn’t necessarily mean much when he is this sleepy and when his words are still a jumbled mess of syllables due to his brain only very slowly catching up with his mouth. He feels Grian chuckle behind him, just before another kiss is smacked on his cheek in the way a child would kiss their mother. Zedaph laughs then, but the yawn that interrupts the joyous sounds must be all too obvious because Grian moves his arm from underneath Zedaph’s head, only to wrap Zedaph in a tight hug, clinging to Zedaph needily whilst also holding him gently, almost protectively, tucking Zedaph’s head beneath his chin.

‘Hm… The king is indecisive, I believe’, Grian proclaims, giggling into Zedaph’s hair and pecking his cheek again, humming as if that were one of the trials he’d need to settle before making a choice.

‘Ah, I see how it is’, Zedaph plays along, burying his head in his pillows and raising a shoulder to protect his cheek from any other motivational kisses, ‘Profiting off of your power, are you, your majesty?’

Zedaph doesn’t even need to see Grian’s face, he can just imagine the sheepish sort of smile on his face, one that promises mischief while portraying innocence, however, Grian decides to prove Zedaph’s theory correct because, with a bit of shuffling, he raises his torso just enough to lean over Zedaph slightly, his head upside down as he looks at Zedaph. He pouts when Zedaph closes his eyes at the sight of him and mimics snoring dazedly, but Grian’s rebuttal turns out to be his fingers tickling the sides of Zedaph’s torso. From how smug Grian’s face is, then, Zedaph can tell that he knows  _ exactly _ what he is doing and he does, they know each other’s ‘weaknesses’ better than they know their own and, of course, Zedaph nearly jumps out of his skin, erupting in high pitched laughter, his legs kicking out fruitlessly and his arms flailing around in the hopes of knocking Grian off of him, but Grian is immovable.

It is only once Zedaph cannot even get a sound out any more, his mouth open in silent, nearly painful laughter, only the occasional wheeze slipping past his lips, that Grian slows down in his ministrations. Zedaph takes a moment to breathe when Grian allows his fingers to simply rest against his ribs, the threat clear, but the white flag raised on Zedaph’s behalf simply due to how he clutches his stomach all too defensively.

‘Yes, I think I’ve decided’, Grian nods behind him and Zedaph raises an eyebrow, his body still weak from too much laughter as he turns himself around to face Grian, their legs untangling before rejoining the mess of limbs that ensures uncertainty pertaining to where Zedaph’s own body end and where Grian’s begins, ‘Sleep is now forbidden.’

‘Uh huh’, Zedaph rolls his eyes but when Grian takes hold of his hands and gently interlaces their fingers together, he cannot help the genuine smile on his face, his gaze softening and his body relaxing. Grian looks at him fondly, his sleep-mussed hair adorably messed up, dark blonde strands sticking out every which way, but a shadow passes over the expression when his thumbs brush over Zedaph’s wrists. Neither of them had been rested enough or awake enough to notice it yesterday, in the baths but, looking down, Zedaph winces as he notes the slightly inflamed looks of his skin where he had pulled against his ropes too harshly in his momentary panic. It’s nothing that won’t completely fade given another day or two, but Grian frowns at the marks regardless. 

‘It’s fine.’

‘Zed-’, but Zedaph doesn’t let him finish, doesn’t even hesitate as he tightens his hold on Grian’s hands with his own, he simply hardens his own expression until Grian closes his mouth and looks off to the side guiltily.

‘It’s something I can grow from, even if it won’t happen at once. I’m  _ fine _ , Gri, I’m alright, now’, he reassures his friend with an even, whispered tone just before he gives Grian a lopsided smile, his brows drawn down a bit shyly. 

Grian does seem to understand, if the long sigh and the shaky nod are anything to go by, even if there’s still a vulnerable edge to the black-eyed gaze he trains on Zedaph, but then Grian closes his eyes and a small smile reappears on his face.

‘That’s good to know Zed… Still, I’m sorry for… For everything.’

Zedaph merely shakes his head and bumps their foreheads together, hard enough, accidentally, that they both wince before they laugh in each other’s faces again. It’s the more subdued type of giggling, the one that’s a bit softer, a bit more intimate, and Zedaph just lets himself have this moment. His heart gives a painful beat at remembering such mornings that he’d spend with his boyfriends but, once it registers in his brain that it won’t be long until he sees them again, a soft, private little grin stretches across his lips, one that stands for his wistfulness, for his longing. That thought combined with the comfort of being held by Grian right now, it all just makes Zedaph want to close his eyes and stay in bed a bit more. He wants to enjoy the warmth of the sheets, the softness of the duvet, the gentle affection of his friend and he makes a mental note to visit Grian more. It’s not like their friendship had changed, it’s not like his love for him is different, but there  _ is _ a different level of intimacy between them now, there’s more trust in both their physical bond and in their emotional connection and Zedaph cannot help but feel giddy about where both of those things might take them.

Grian taps his cheek however, seemingly sensing through entirely supernatural means that Zedaph’s thoughts are going down a very cheesy direction, because Zedaph opens his eyes to a raised eyebrow and a smirk from Grian, but there’s also an energy to him, thrumming just below the surface.

‘But I did mean it, you silly man’, Grian informs him casually just before helping them both stand up on the bed with a grin, ‘This is no time to be sleeping, Zed.’

Zedaph squints at Grian and rubs his hands against his arms as the duvet pools around his waist. They are both still naked and, without any layers at all, the cold of the room is not nearly as bearable when they aren’t busy with  _ other _ activities.

‘Well, I for one think the time is always great for more sleep’, Zedaph pouts and makes an inquisitive sound, watching Grian jump out of bed. He rushes over to his wardrobe and Zedaph merely contemplates laying back down and dozing off again, but then Grian bursts right back into the bedroom with  _ two _ armfuls of clothes and a wild look in his eyes.

‘I have a plan for the end of our week together, one that I am sure both of us will be  _ pleased _ by’, Grian says, knowingly, but the way in which he accentuates his words has Zedaph blushing and fighting back the urge to cover his face with his hands, ‘Now, up with you!’

* * *

When they’d finally climbed into the carriage, made out of wood and metal, undetailed enough to not stand out as belonging to royalty and yet lavish with its interior furbishing, the pillowed seats covered with soft velvet and the window frames lined with delicate metal work that, from a distance, wouldn’t even seem to be there in the first place, the clock had already hit noon, and yet the sky had showed no sign of it, grey once more, a few smaller snowflakes already slowly drifting down onto the frozen ground. The moody weather hadn’t come as a surprise to Grian, however, because he’d dressed both of them in enough layers that Zedaph had, at one point, asked himself whether they might have been too much.

But that had been hours earlier and, now, with the sky absolutely cracking down upon the fields and valleys that they pass through, their horses being changed every few hours or whenever they can reach a small village in their path, it no longer seems like too bad of a decision. It all seems planned enough, so Zedaph gets to relax a little and read another book that he’d sneaked away from the royal library, with Grian’s help, of course, while Grian leans his head on Zedaph’s shoulders and hums an odd little melody that is just loud enough for Zedaph to hear and enjoy, but low enough that Zedaph cannot catch the words, though he incredulously widens his eyes and has to bite his lips to refrain from giggling once, when he thinks he catches the word ‘pickle’.

Grian doesn’t necessarily tell him where they are headed, but he does make it quite clear that, as a final destination for their journey, he  _ will _ return Zedaph home, but that he has a surprise planned for him.

Zedaph knows that, were he to think about what said surprise might entail in any more detail, he would certainly bulsh during the whole trip and his thoughts might stray to places that aren’t all too innocent, ones that both make his shame grow in its intensity, while also only keeping him on his toes.

And so Zedaph focuses on his book. It’s one he’d used to read as a younger child, a storybook, but due to the simple nature of writing meant for children, despite how much Zedaph stalls and how many times he rereads the same page because his mind can’t quite keep itself on track, he ends up finishing it before the first leg of their travel is done, and Grian  _ notices _ .

Suffice to say, Grian finds another way to keep them both entertained and, after a hushed conversation that leaves Grian playfully smiling at his friend and Zedaph a flushed mess, Zedaph finds himself wondering if Grian had planned for this as well.

_ Suffice to say _ , Zedaph doesn’t expect to spend quite a bit of time, just until they reach another smaller settlement, a quiet, little riverside town, on his knees, with Grian’s cock in his mouth, Grian’s hands buried in his hair, controlling the movements and making Zedaph choke on his length, nor does he expect to be reenacting quite a bit of their third night together beyond that as well.

When their horses are changed again and the coachman checks in on them, both of them are seated again and Grian looks as though nothing had happened, even if he seem a bit smug, and Zedaph is covering his red face with a handkerchief Grian had offered him in order to, as he’d put it,  _ get rid of any unwanted messes _ .

The rest of their journey is split between soft conversations that range from the nostalgia of their childhoods, to the uncertainty of the future, and touches that, given their circumstances, are absolutely inappropriate, and yet the shame that burns through Zedaph, his entirely red face and his little, barely contained sounds seem to be exactly what Grian is after.

It is one of the most unusual, yet one of the most unforgetable travelling experiences Zedaph has ever had in his life.

And if, in the end, when they reach their destaination, no one except Grian and Zedaph is aware of what they’d done in that carriage, then nothing less than proper must have gone down between them, surely.

* * *

They have a veritable blizzard on their hands by time they reach their final stop for the day. The lanterns afixed on the front of the carriage barely throw enough light ahead of them to see the road as it winds through small snow dunes and passes by the odd tree that almost gets lost in the background of white fields. To their right, there are a few houses and the yellow glow that shines through some of the window is reassuring in its own right, there are people here, they’re not quite as alone as the dark grey sky and the never ending scenery, only bordered by the snow shrinking their field of vision, would have them believe. Even so, Zedaph is almost unsure if this is their destination, sleepy with the sort of lethargy that grips him on longer rides, the coziness inside the carriage combined with the harsh weather outside not helping him with his continued sleepiness, but at least, after Grian steps out of the carriage before him to ensure that whatever surprise he has is going according to plan, Zedapn gets to sit back onto the bench and shake himself awake a bit more.

He grabs his coat, which he had folded and laid into his lap and, after bundling himself up, he steps into the storm. The wind is the first thing he notices, strong and unforgiving in its icy chill, the snowflakes hitting his face and clinging to his eyelashes even, but the shock of the temperature change is lessened by the tight knit of the coat and by the soft hem of it wrapped around his neck. His cheeks are still freezing, but Zedaph is quite sure that they aren’t meant to sit outside and wait in this sort of snowstorm, so he simply looks up at the house they have stopped in front of. The carriage behind him is ushered into the courtyard of it, but Zedaph’s eyes widen as he studies the beautiful woodwork of the supporting structure. Light grey stone forms the tall shape of the building and the windows, though quite a bit on the larger size, are all dark, so much so that Zedaph barely catches a glimpse of the coloured glass decorating some of them when the carriage, with all its swinging lanterns, passes them by. 

He follows the carriage into the courtyard, surprised to see little bumps in the snow. Looking more closely at them, Zedaph realises they are braided baskets thrown over whatever plants are growing right next to the house, no doubt meant to lend at least some protection to the more vulnerable greenery. He’d seen some of their gardeners employ the same tactics in winters when the weather would get especially harsh, but this only serves to make him wonder what sort of person lives here because, clearly, they aren’t just visiting this house, but rather, are here for a reason. Zedaph thinks so, at least.

Grian is nowhere to be seen at first and Zedaph feels reluctant to go anywhere, in case something happens, so he stands around and pulls the coat tighter around his shoulders, watching the coachman untie the horses and bring them to a small stable behind the house, speaking to them softly every step of the way. Clearly, they love working with horses and the way the animals listen to them almost attentively attests to that. It is fascinating. Zedaph smiles and waves when the coachman comes out of the stables and inclines their head by way of greeting before entering the house through a side entrance. Zedaph himself is waiting just in front of what he assumes to be the main entrance and, right now, alone in a stranger’s courtyard, with the snow quickly layering itself around him, Zedaph is almost tempted to just go inside the house, where he assumes Grian is. He still waits for a few more minutes, just in case.

His patience is rewarded by Grian opening the door, just a smidge, the sound being what alerts Zedaph to the movement, a loud creak, and there is Grian’s head, peeking through the door, a large smile on his face as his eyes settle on Zedaph, a brow raised in question despite it.

‘Enjoying the weather too much?’, he asks and Zedaph rolls his eyes as he catches the unsaid _ you should have come inside, you fool _ , but he shakes his head and steps up to the door, which Grian opens wide now, the creak even louder this time, but they cross the threshold together and, suddenly, Zedaph finds himself in a small hallway, only dimly lit by a single candle placed on a dresser right next to the door. The floor is carpeted, the soft patterns of flowers and swirling shapes set in green and black. They take their shoes off and Zedaph hangs his coat, Grian having apparently done so earlier, on the clothing rack above the dresser.

‘So, Grian...’, Zedaph says with a small, awkward smile, the darkness and silence getting to him a bit, even if he trusts Grian and whatever plan he might have, ‘What exactly are we doing here?’

Grian shrugs nonchalantly and starts walking down the hallway, his head turned so he can look back at Zedaph and, before turning and disappearing behind a corner, Grian simply says, in the most frustratingly calm and smug tone:

‘Why don’t you come over to see for yourself?’

And Zedaph follows, albeit, a bit hesitantly, watching his step as he nears the end of the small hallway and, soon enough, he is greeted by a room that is bathed in the warm light of a jolly fireplace, shelves upon shelves stuffed with small, clear glass bottles filled with dried herbs and oddly coloured liquids, books and and objects of all sorts that Zedaph isn’t entirely sure what to make of covering the walls. There’s a small window to his right and a dining table covered by an embroidered black tablecloth just in front of it, but what really grabs Zedaph’s attention is the two armchairs sat in front of the fireplace. Grian has already claimed one of them as his own and, with a small gasp, Zedaph notices the last person in the room, probably the owner of the house and  _ easily _ one of the most imposing people Zedaph has ever seen in his life.

His hands, large and calloused, elegant in the way he holds them, though one of them is covered in a multitude of long, ragged scars, are settled on the back of Grian’s armchair. He is dressed in a baggy, off white tunic, it’s front laces trailing and the v-shaped collar revealing a broad, muscled chest and a few more scars that seem to be connected to those on his one arm, given their propensity for only appearing on one side of his sculpted torso. The trousers he is wearing are tight around the calves and the waist, but loose everywhere else. His head is turned away from Zedaph, so he cannot see his face, but the man stands at least a good head taller than Zedaph himself and even through his less than form-fitting clothes, merely the poise of his body and what Zedaph  _ can _ see of it reveal a certain strength that has Zedaph’s knees buckling, even if he isn’t sure if he feels intimidated or…  _ Or... _

Zedaph is ripped right out of his musings as the man turns his head towards Zedaph and, with an eye a deep red colour, darker than Tango’s beautiful, crimson gaze, and one a cerulean blue, high cheekbones and a scar running down half of his face, his expression intense in every way possible, Zedaph all but lets out an embarrassing squeak and freezes in place. The man keeps looking at him, but their attention diverted by the giggle Grian lets out from where he is curled up in his armchair. It breaks the tension a bit and Zedaph takes a deep, long breath, even if it sounds more like a wheeze.

‘Zed, this is Doc, a friend and a long time partner of mine’, Grian says as he rises from his chair, coming to stand between them, one hand on Zedaph’s shoulder and his free arm wrapped around the man’s,  _ Doc’s _ waist, which earns him an eye roll from Doc and a nervous glance from Zedaph, but Grian continues anyway, ‘And Doc, this is Zedaph, my childhood friend and the man I told you about.’

The red and blue eyes sweep over Zedaph in silent assessment and Zedaph feels the need to cover himself up for some reason, but instead, he just opens his mouth and, with his nerves, his brain seems to lose all control over his mouth.

‘Good morning-  _ Er _ , I mean, g-good evening? Hi, hello, I’m Zed, hi’, Zedaph instantly wants to slam his face into one of the walls, even if he risks knocking some of the glass bottles down but, instead, he simply winces and awaits some sort of scatching remark of a response.

And yet, Doc begins smiling then, his eyes narrowing with it as he begins laughing, the sound low and deep and hearty and enough to have Zedaph’s face going entirely pink. He reaches out with one hand and Zedaph, though he fumbles a bit, shakes it as firmly as he can, given his shaky grip.

‘Doc. It’s good to meet you.’

He has a bit of an accent and his voice is all kinds of low and raspy, which doesn’t help Zedaph’s case, especially when Doc’s hand kind of envelops his and Zedaph had already felt small the moment he saw Doc, but it’s not getting any better. He looks up at Doc and swiftly looks away. This elicits another giggle from Grian. 

Soon enough, they are all seated in the two armchairs. Zedaph doesn’t necessarily recall sitting down in the first place, distracted as he is, but right now, his gaze is switching between the fireplace and the other armchair where Doc is sitting, looking even bigger with the easy arrangement of his limbs, Grian having decided to use his lap as his own, personal seat. Zedaph just gulps and wrings his hands together, trying his best to refrain from blushing any harder than he already is because, given what they’d done during this week, it only makes sense that Grian’s surprise might end up having a more of a sexual nature to it and the presence of the man before him sure doesn’t help Zedaph relax, not when his thoughts are running in circles inside his head, not when he becomes a little cross eyed whenever he looks at Doc’s hands for a bit too long. He inhales and leans back into the chair, eyes studying the rug and the wooden planks peeking through in some places.

‘Now’, Grian begins, his hand gesturing between the three of them inconspicuously, ‘I had already written Doc about our planned…  _ Activities _ , but Zedaph here has been left in the dark, so let us have a bit of a talk before commencing.’

Zedaph purses his lips and pays even more attention to the floor beneath his feet, even if he can feel the heat of eyes on him.

‘Well, you told me you wanted to have a bit of fun, Grian’, Doc says, his tone a bit questioning, the slightest hint of a growl in it. A quick look up reveals the fact that Grian is nodding happily, still looking almost  _ too  _ satisfied.

‘I, uhm… Yeah, I’m not really sure what to expect either, sorry’, Zedaph says before averting his gaze again, just as Doc turns to look at him.

‘He wanted  _ us _ to have fun, from what I understood’, and Doc still sounds a bit confused, but also slightly excited, which, though Zedaph will deny it, makes his heart speed up in his chest, the thumps of it against the inside of his ribs almost painful, ‘Is that something you are interested in?’

Zedaph doesn’t answer because,  _ Gods _ , is he. His blood is running hot already and his mind isn’t helping with the images it is projecting right before Zedaph’s eyes, but his breathing does quicken and his face grows even hotter. He hears the sound of footsteps before him, then, and a shadow falls over him as Doc looms above him with this warm, but all too promising looking smile stretching across his lips. Zedaph looks up with wide eyes and red cheeks, but he is stopped from turning his head away by fingers grabbing his chin, a thumb  _ this _ close to brushing against his lips, but refraining. Zedaph feels like his mouth has run dry and he cannot even try to deny how turned on he is, seeing as he nearly sinks even deeper into the armchair. Hands settling on his shoulders stop that, however, and, before Zedaph has time to blink or try to form a coherent thought, Grian is behind him, leaning over the armchair’s back, his lips so close to Zedaph’s ear that he can almost feel the shape of them.

‘You were so good for me this entire week, such an obedient boy, and I want to show you my gratitude. Don’t you want a reward, Zed?’, Grian whispers and Zedaph wants to bite his lips to stop a whimper from slipping right past the defenses that his brain can’t seem to keep up, but then Doc’s thumb is hooked around his bottom lip, is pulling it down and pressing against the plush, sensitive flesh of it, his touch still gentle enough that it feels more ticklish than anything else. Zedaph does whimper then, softly, almost inaudibly.

‘Grian, I...’, Zedaph swallows his own words back down, not sure what he wants to say, what he needs right now, but he does want to say yes, wants to see what those hands would feel like on his skin, wants something,  _ anything _ , so he nods, the movement small and jerky, but Grian’s hands tighten around his shoulders and Doc’s thumb slips against his tongue, pressing the muscle down until it stops twitching beneath the pad of his fingers. His body is caught between wanting to obey and wanting to reach out and get more of these sensations, but it seems like Grian notices his disposition and looks at Doc. They have a conversation above him in whispered tones, more so an exchange of gazes than an actual dialogue, but in a matter of seconds, the hands leave his shoulders and he closes his mouth freely. Zedaph’s face is still flushed when Grian helps him stand on weak knees and his eyes are half-lidded with arousal, but then he looks up and his eyes meet Doc’s. There’s a question on his face and all Zedaph can do is nod.

Doc picks him up and Grian hums some soft melody that only he knows the words of and that is that. Zedaph feels himself go boneless as he clings to strong arms, which he can feel tensing under the shirt Doc is wearing, but this time, Zedaph manages to keep quiet as he is being carried. There are hands supporting his thighs, keeping his legs spread and he hopes against all hope that Doc doesn’t notice how excited Zedaph already is due to the implications of their talk, but then Grian is patting his back reassuringly as they move through the house, climb the steps and reach the second floor of it, and Grian’s hand lingers at the back of Zedaph’s necks, giving his hair a gentle tug. Zedaph exhales at that and, after Doc’s hands hoist him up a bit higher, he buries his face in his shoulder, his whole body heating up in embarrassment when he hears Grian giggle at that, but it’s a fond sound.

A door is opened and the three of them enter a room that is illuminated, very faintly, barely at all by an oil lamp set in the wall above a large, simple, but very soft looking bed. The door is closed again and before Zedaph’s eyes can even get used to the lower light level, he is thrown onto the comfortable mattress with an  _ oomph _ .

Zedaph blinks a bit and manages to raise himself on his elbows, taking the room in, the minimal furniture, the only thing out of place being a chair sat next to the window off to the side, and looking to Grian. He is standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest casually, a grin playing on his lips as he watches them. Doc is stood in front of the bed and Zedaph falls right back into the bed, his heart just about ready to thump out of his chest. He is taking his shirt off, muscles rippling beneath his skin and Zedaph feels like he can’t quite breathe right. He pushes his own legs together, if only to hide his arousal as best as he can, but then Doc steps into his line of sight, rolling his shoulders and exhaling through his nose as his gaze falls on Zedaph, spread out onto the bed in a way that should feel embarrassing. 

‘Don’t stall too much, love, I already kept him waiting for a week’, Grian pipes up, his voice a low whisper, as he steps closer to the bed, sitting on its edge, one hand reaching out to caress Zedaph’s face tenderly, ‘And I’m sure he agrees, too. Don’t you, Zed?’

Zedaph looks at Grian and feels almost overwhelmed with the two men sitting around him, but he is moaning out an affirmative just as Doc trails his fingers down Zedaph’s clothed thighs, whistling lowly.

‘A week? And by that, I assume you left him unsatisfied?’

Grian nods and that is when Doc looks back down at Zedaph, his hands pushing his thighs apart before he settles between them. Their crotches meet and Zedaph has to dig his nails into his own palms in order to not buck up but then, after Doc rolls his hips and Zedaph discovers that he isn’t the only one rearing and ready to go, it is like a dam breaks. With a long moan, Zedaph’s legs fall open and his hands grip the sheets next to his head desperately. The shame of presenting himself like this, needy and whimpering in a stranger’s bed, only fuels the fire that burns higher and higher in his groin. Grian raises an inquisitive eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything, allowing his silence to speak for him while he loops his one of his fingers under the front lace of Zedaph’s shirt, pulling and untying the small ribbon.

Doc shakes his head, but his hands run up Zedaph’s sides, coming to a halt on his waist and pulling his lower up and off of the bed, only to grind against Zedaph slowly, gently, as Grian pulls the shirt down, leaving his shoulders naked first, then his whole upper body, the silken material of it pooling where Doc holds him slightly aloft, but Doc doesn’t seem to mind, is leaning down, the hard contours of his beautiful face even more stunning from up close, the line of the scar lighter than his overall skin tone. There are faint freckles painted over the bridge of his nose too and his lips are pink and pulled over a steely smile, but all Zedaph can focus on is the large bulge rubbing against his own hardening length and the intense eyes staring into his own.

‘His chest is even more sensitive than yours’, Grian says, almost matter of factly, and one of Doc’s hands pulls the shirt even lower, his fingers tracing Zedaph’s ribs as he goes for the centre of his chest. The anticipation has Zedaph tensing up and maybe Doc senses that because he leans down and leaves a nibble on one bare shoulder with surprisingly sharp teeth and, instantly, Zedaph goes limp in his grasp, the pain, such a minor sensation and yet such an impactful one, setting Zedaph’s nerves ablaze, which is why, when fingers pinch and roll one of his niples, already peaked from the slight chill, Zedaph twitches so suddenly and so harshly that it almost hurts, his muscles tense and his fingers just barely not ripping the sheets beneath him.

Then Grian’s mouth is on his other nipple and Zedaph can only hope that the coachman is in a completely different corner of the house because he  _ screams _ .

His back arches at a sharp enough angle that it nearly hurts, but it feels so good that Zedaph simply doesn’t care. Instead, both of his own hands let go of their iron grip on the sheets and move toward his chest, one hand holding Doc’s, the other entangling itself in Grian’s hair, begging, with his own body language, for just a moment of reprieve. They both give him a minute to gather his thoughts, to breathe and calm down a little bit, but once Zedaph lets out a gasp and nods shakily, the feeling of fingers pinching one of his nipple and teeth sinking into the other is nearly overwhelming enough that Zedaph instinctively brings his legs back together to try and stave off his orgasm, but he forget that Doc is there and maybe it is the feeling of more clothed skin on clothes skin that does it, but with a low growl, he feels his trousers being ripped right off of him in one strong, fluid move. 

Normally, Zedaph would protest at his clothes being ruined, but right now, it just makes Zedaph whine wantomly, it makes him thrust his hips up as the rags of what used to be his outfit are dragged off of him. Zedaph doesn’t even realise that both Grian and Doc had left his chest alone until the sensation of metal against the nearly painfully tender nipples registers in his mind. He isn't sure where Grian had pulled them out from, but the nipple clamps and the beautiful, elegant chain tying them together is back. The loops of the metal glisten in the low light and all Zedaph can do is throw his head back.

‘That’s beautiful…’, Doc mumbles in the air between himself and Zedaph and Grian merely grins, tugging on the chain just roughly enough that Zedaph lets out a mewl and follows the motion with his own body.

‘Isn’t he? Pretty boy’, Grian coos and, before he knows it, they are moving him again. Doc’s rough hands are roaming all over his skin, tracing the subtle muscles and soft flesh of his stomach, flicking the clamps and, subsequently, his nipples as well, tracing the shape of his lips with shockingly gentle fingers, moving him so that Grian can remove any remaining clothing, his long socks, the garters fixed just below his knees, the undergarments that are slightly ripped in places as well from Doc’s earlier show of force and, slowly, they shift, just so that Grian ends up sitting on a chair that Zedaph assumes Grian had dragged from next to the window, his legs crossed, but the laces of his trousers undone, just enough so that Zedaph catches a glimpse of his silk shift, and Zedaph is propped against the headboard, his legs spread open, bent at the knees, and his arms pinned above his head by calloused palms, Doc tracing the insides of Zedaph’s wrists with his thumbs. The clamps provide a constant pressure that Zedaph has a hard time not focusing on initially, but Doc provides a good enough distraction when he moves down Zedaph’s body, nipping at his skin along the way, hard enough that he leaves small, purpling marks all over his body, but what truly makes Zedaph  _ sing _ is the moment he opens his mouth wide and bites down onto the skin just between Zedaph’s pelvis and his thigh,  _ hard _ .

Zedaph’s hands struggle where they are held and his legs attempt to close against, but Doc’s own body is keeping them open. Even so, as he licks at the large bite mark left behind, tracing the indents of his teeth with his tongue, Zedaph lets out a series of warbled moans. Grian sighs from next to him and he sounds so satisfied that Zedaph is tempted to look at him just to gauge his reaction, but his eyes are closed from all of the things he is feeling. He isn’t sure if he can come yet, even if the subtext of their earlier discussion had seemed to hint at it, so he still holds himself back, even when Doc starts licking up his hard cock, before he draws his head back. Zedaph tries to buck up and follow the warm mouth, but a stern look and a growl keep him back. Zedaph feels like he is about to melt, like the pressure might crush him in a few seconds.

‘I think that’s enough teasing, what do you say, love?’, Grian asks and Doc turns to him. Grian leans close to him, still seated in his chair, but he has something in his hand, a small glass bottle, the same one that contains the oil he’d used on Zedaph quite a bit already, but Doc merely lets go of one of Zedaph’s hands, which he quickly brings to his dick, holding himself tightly, trying to keep his pleasure form peaking, in order to grab Grian by the back of his neck and bring him in for a wet, messy kiss, one that is more teeth and tongue than anything else, before actually taking the oil from him. He can see the way Doc controls the movement and force of the kiss, but even so, he can also see that Grian is the one directing its energy and its development, this soft kind of control being something Zedaph has come to expect from Grian in these past few days. Grian lets out a soft moan, the corners of his lips moving up to form the hint of a smile and Doc takes advantage of that, biting and pulling at his lower lip with his teeth before delving back in, claiming Grian’s mouth over and over again.

Zedaph feels like he could finish like this, were he to let himself go for a single second, he could just watch them kissing like this, passionately, desperately, could listen to their soft sounds and could come on the spot, which is why he tightens his grip around his own cock. They continue a few moments longer, the need rising with the heat behind their kiss, tongues tracing lips, teeth claiming mouths and breath being shared as if they were one, but after a while, they part, reluctantly, and two sets of eyes, one black and even darker with desire and the other intense blue and smoldering red, settle on Zedaph himself, whose body trembles as he tries to make himself smaller. Doc pulls back and Zedaph wonders if he should be giving the two of them a moment of privacy, wonders if he is intruding but, after removing his pants nearly as roughly as he had Zedaph’s, Doc dives right back in. Zedaph can’t see his body that well in the dim room, but he can  _ feel _ it well enough. Doc’s hard cock, thick and long and  _ warm, _ rubs against his own in the spaces left by his fingers, bumping into his knuckles, brushing against his perineum and his achingly empty hole and Zedaph is half gone with the pleasure that alone gives him. To the side, he can hear the sound of a bottle being uncapped, of drops of oil falling onto one hand and then of feet taking one, two steps, until Grian is standing next top Doc on the bed, opposite to him, inhaling deeply as they get close again, the air between them as electric as before, but Zedaph cannot even ponder what sort of relationship the two have, beyond knowing that Doc is one of Grian’s partners, because two of Grian’s fingers are suddenly at his entrance and they are pushing right into him.

‘You want it, don’t you? You want him to fuck you, hm?’, Grian asks, almost dreamily as he fucks Zedaph with his fingers, not even waiting for him to adjust, just pounding into Zedaph until he hits his prostate, devilishly grinning as Zedaph’s near constant stream of moans becomes an almost entirely screamed out melody of pleas and mewls and cries for more. Grian abuses that spot, pressing into it as hard as he can and Doc watches this go down, breathing heavily, releasing Zedaph entirely just to lean back and watch them. Something seems to snap inside him when the pitch of Zedaph’s moan changes, as if he knows that Zedaph is literally a moment away from coming all over himself, despite his hand still wrapped around his dick, because, with a hand circling Grian’s wrist, he stops that from happening, but Zedaph doesn’t get to complain because, all of a sudden, he is being pushed up and then down again, right on his hands and knees. His eyes are closed at first, but then the heat of Doc’ member right up in his face and his position clicks and it is almost with frantic movements that Zedaph wraps his lips around Doc’s cock, looking up at him with wide, purple eyes, brows pulled down in an expression of near pain as he lets his jaw go lax.

‘Did…  _ Fuck _ , did you train him to do that?’, Doc asks through gritted teeth and a hand runs through his hair gently before grabbing the light yellow strands in a fist that is just rough enough for Zedaph to feel the sting of it against his scalp, but the pull is not tight enough for any real pain to occur. There’s a laugh from behind him and Zedaph can’t help but tense up when Grian brings his fingers back to Zedaph’s entrance, having gone from two to three, even wetter than before, more oil making the slide in that much easier, that much more maddening, as Grian returns to stretching him out. 

‘No, but he seems to  _ really _ like that, doesn't he?’, Grian says in a singsong voice, his fingers moving much slower than before, but reaching just as deep and, when Doc decides to push his dick far enough down Zedaph’s throat to have him gag, but not enough to bring any unbearable sort of discomfort, Zedaph really feels like he might just lose his mind, ‘Gets a kick from it, being used like that. Fuck his mouth, he’ll make such a pretty face if you do...’

The words alone have Zedaph on edge, but when multiple things happen at once, when Grian leans over him and softly, affectionately whispers in his ear,  _ what a little whore you are _ , when his fingers reach his prostate and remain there, pressing against it and moving, sending electricity up Zedaph’s spine, the heat of the pleasure too much already, when Doc uses both of his hands to pull Zedaph’s head closer to his crotch, effectively burying his whole cock down Zedaph’s throat with a low groan, Zedaph can no longer hold himself back.

He comes right then and there.

The teasing, the denial of his pleasure for so long already, the promise of what is to happen next, they make him scream out his own end and Zedaph all but collapses, only the hands of the two men behind and in front of him keeping him propped up, somewhat. His noises are muffled, understandably, but the way Zedaph tenses up must be enough for Doc and Grian to realise that he is still coming because their ministrations let up somewhat. There’s come splattered against the underside of his own stomach and he is sure some of it must be dripping down onto the sheets, but apologizing is hard when his mouth is occupied. Well, maybe it is also the muddled haze of bliss that steals Zedaph’s words, because Doc pulls back a second later and Zedaph is still just panting, not even able to let out any sounds anymore. Grian’s fingers remain unmoving, but his other hand settles on one of his arse cheeks and kneads carefully. Zedaph encourages it with a small keen.

‘You came from that alone?’, Grian asks, but instead of saying it mockingly or even teasingly, he sounds genuinely impressed and, when he speaks next, something satisfied, something dark and velvety slivers around his words like smoke, giving his voice a breathy quality, ‘ _ Good boy _ .’

Zedaph, with his mouth now free and Doc’s hands no longer holding his head up and more so just runs his fingers through Zedaph’s slightly sweat damp hair, lets himself collapse on his forearms. Grian moves the hand from over his arse to the small of his back, spreading his fingers to cover the heated skin there and dig his nails into it, lightly enough that the tingle it sends through Zedaph’s body is welcomed with a sharp inhale and twitching muscles.

‘Do you like that?’, it seems to be Doc’s turn to question him, so Zedaph peeks at the man from his little hiding spot in the nock of his own arms, purple meeting mismatched red and blue. Zedaph isn’t sure what is being asked of him, so he simply continues looking at Doc, who tugs a fistful of Zedaph’s hair barely enough for Zedaph to feel it.

‘Being treated like… This. Roughly. Being taken, being called names’, he continues in an even tone and Zedaph chokes on his own spit to Grian and Doc’s obvious amusement, what with the way they begin laughing, but it doesn’t feel condescending or mean spirited. Still, Zedaph pouts to hide a small smile. Pleasure is slowly stopping its assault on his nerves and with that comes a certain clarity. Of course he does, the gentle love making, the tender words, the emotions, those are important to him on a more emotional level, and Zedaph thinks about how he and Grian had had to find that out the hard way with a small wince, but this, the things Doc had mentioned, are things that he still gets hot and bothered when thinking about, are things that make him turn entirely red in a matter of seconds, they are things that Zedaph knows he enjoys, maybe too much, even, and with them comes both a certain amount of shame, though it has certainly shrunk since his first experience with the rougher side of sex, but also an oddly freeing sensation. He thinks about being called any of those names, thinks about how they are spoken, affection overruling any bad undertone that would usually accompany the terms, were they to come from anyone else.

The speed at which Zedaph gets aroused again just due to pondering how should answer Doc’s question is a testament to the what he wants to say for sure because Grian pulls his fingers out, keeps them still for a moment while Zedaph gasps and goes back to burying his face in his forearms, even the tips of his ears gaining a reddish hue to them now, and then he pushes them right back in, not slowly, not gently, and he doesn’t wait again, simply continues thrusting into Zedaph, fucking him on his fingers and carressing his lower back, the contradiction of the touches making Zedaph moan even louder than he already is. He spreads his legs a little more and squirms because the oversensitivy of getting stimulated so soon after an orgams isn’t lost on him, but this time around, Grian misses Zedaph’s sweet spot perfectly,  _ deliberately _ .

‘Answer him, Zed. I assure you, it’ll make for a better time together if he knows what you want’, Grian comments and Zedaph can hear the smirk in his voice, but something else he begins hearing is the wet sounds the oil makes against his skin as Grian’s pace picks up ever so slightly. It makes Zedaph mewl, but a noise is ripped right out of his mouth as Doc grips the back of Zedaph’s head and angles it slightly up, just so that Zedaph is face to face with his cock again. It makes Zedaph’s mouth water, it makes the hot curl of shame and arousal that mix together so seamlessly that he can hardly tell them apart anymore curl in on itself even tighter and, despite his oversensitivity, despite Grian avoiding his prostate, Zedaph feels like he is close again. An answer to Doc’s promise of an inquiry seems like the best way to get the stimulation he needs to fall over the edge again because the pleasure is so good it  _ hurts _ and Zedaph almost feels giddy at the thought of coming again, something restless in his chest moving in time with his racing heart.

‘Y-yes,  _ yes _ , I do, I  _ need-’ _ , but a moan breaks his words apart when Grian decides to spread his fingers out, stretching him even more and, distantly, Zedaph is almost thankful for it, especially as he looks at Doc’s cock again. He is bigger than anything he’s taken before and Zedaph is almost intimidated by it as much as he is turned on.

Doc nods once, firmly, and then his cock is slipping right down Zedaph’s throat again.

Grian and Doc seem to follow a rhythm together, because they fuck him in time, from both ends, and, though it doesn’t seem like much even if it  _ feels _ like a monumental task, Zedaph manages to take it without actually crying from how good it feels, not to mention the sting of his throat being stretched out so thoroughly by Doc making his eyes water slightly. Throughout all this, Zedaph just squirms between a hard dick and playful fingers, his abdomen tightening and relaxing, his cock hard again and leaking against his stomach, and he knows saliva is gathering at the corners of his mouth, is trailing down his chin, knows that he is pushing back against Grian’s fingers, but when that simply gets him whispered praise, Zedaph’s eyes roll back.

It is over too soon when, seemingly, Grian and Doc both decide to go for another position change. Zedaph is left empty and shivering, still on his hands and knees, his hole clenching around nothing, his throat raw and his untouched cock covered in his own precum, as they move around him. A cursory glance at the room reveals Grian sitting in his chair again, but he has his cock in his hand, is slowly moving his fingers up and down his own rosy length, and he looks like he is waiting, while Doc is now shuffling behind Zedaph, ripping whatever clothes he still has on off of himself and, soon enough, Zedaph feels the way two large hands grab his hips and push him  _ down _ . Zedaph lets out an involuntary whimper as his erection is pressed into the sheets, but his voice breaks when strong thighs, ripe with muscle, bracket his own. Doc’s cock sits heavy on one of Zedaph’s cheeks, but Doc is moving slightly, the heat of it rubbing against him.

‘Mhh, finally’, Grian hums joyfully, lowly, and that is when Doc pushes his dick right into the cleft of Zedaph’s arse, right against his wet entrance.

Zedaph scrambles until he manages to get a grip on the bed sheets, especially as Doc keeps pressing against him, not enough to breach, but enough for Zedaph to feel him and Zedaph isn’t sure if the slowness of it all is what he wants or if the thought of the man behind him just letting go and fucking him as soon as possible is more appealing. Whichever it is, Zedaph moans all the same. 

‘Is this good? Do you want this?’, a rough voice asks and Zedaph almost jumps out of his skin with how quickly he tries to answer that, his back bending a little bit and his cock squeezed even more snuggly between the bed and his own body.

‘ _ Please _ ’, he says simply, making his point clear, and it’s enough, it must be, because Doc pushes a bit more and the head of his cock goes past Zedaph’s soft rim in one fluid movement, a relieved breath escaping both of them.

Just as Zedaph begins wondering if Doc will begin slowly, will build up to a more frantic rhythm, will allow him to get used to the already overwhelming weight of his cock inside him, Doc’s teeth latch into the meat of his shoulder and his fingers tighten like a vice around his hips. He moves and, suddenly, the entirety of his dick is inside Zedaph, stretching him out even as Doc refrains from moving for a bit, so much so that Zedaph has to squirm on him and, even then, all it does, instead of alleviating the feeling of fullness, is make Zedaph’s arousal climb even higher in the pit of his stomach.

‘Be good’, Doc warns as he releases Zedaph’s skin, but he noses at another spot, one still sore from last night and,  _ fuck _ , does the image of his and Grian’s activities make his dick throb where it is squished between soft material and softer yet skin, ‘Be a good slut for me?’

The questioning tone shows the care, the worry Doc is hiding behind a growl, and Zedaph tenses then, squeezing Doc’s entire length and marveling in how, even when he tries to relax back into him, the fit of their bodies remains tight.

‘Oh, he will’, Grian chimes in and Zedaph remembers that they are being watched,  _ judged _ , even, at least given the tone Grian uses, and both Zedaph and Doc seem just as affected by that particular reminder, but Grian isn’t done, ‘Start fucking him and I guarantee he’ll moan more beautifully than any whore.’

There’s a single moment of hesitation, but then Doc’s chest meets Zedaph’s back, the weight of him pushing Zedaph against the bed just as Doc follows Grian’s advice, pulls back and then, roughly, he thrusts right back and, just like that, he begins fucking Zedaph.

The hands on his hips and Doc’s own body keep Zedaph pinned, so he cannot even shake freely, but his voice is as unrestrained as ever, if a bit gravely, Zedaph letting out throaty moans and pleading mewls, his eyes wide and his fingers white with how hard he is grabbing at the sheets beneath them. This only seems to encourage Doc because his tongue licks a hot strip down the back of his neck before he moves to the side of it and bites into his pulse point, deepening a preexisting mark and making Zedaph squeal. The slap of skin against skin distracts Zedaph, just a little bit, but that changes when Doc meets his prostate with one of his thrusts.

‘Th-  _ Fuck, there! Fuck me there! _ ’, Zedaph cries out and his eyes close against the wave of arousal that slams against him, the heat from just before they’d switched positions reigniting inside him and quickly reaching, before it surpases, the earlier amount of crushing pressure. Doc listens and, when he begins pistoning his hips, pounding into Zedaph, the frame of the bed something Zedaph can  _ hear _ as it is moved by the sheer force of Doc’s movements, Zedaph does feel the way his body tenses up.

Orgasm hits Zedaph with a certain intensity that has his head spinning and his breath stopping, even as his heartbeat increases even more, a loud and quick drum that only seems to speed up even more, but Doc doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down and Zedaph’s mouth hangs open. He is speechless with pleasure and frozen with adrenaline, his entire body tingling and his muscles tight under his skin. Doc exhales and, after growling in Zedaph’s ear at the way Zedaph tightens around him, he retaliates by fucking him even harder into the bed.

‘Did you come again?’, is what Grian says and, with the lack of Zedaph’s screams and moans, he can hear his friend all too clearly, which doesn’t help him, because Grian seems to know exactly what buttons to push, where to use his words, ‘Such a good, little slut you are.’

Doc reacts to that by pulling out of him and, before Zedaph can whine about being empty again, his walls clenching and unclenching almost uncomfortably, he is being manhandled onto his back, his legs spread and his chest rising and falling with his quick breathing. 

‘More?’, Doc asks before leaning over Zedaph again, his cock resting at the red and puffy rim of his entrance. Doc’s hands push one thigh up, bringing it to rest on his shoulder, while keeping his other leg off to the side, allowing him a clear view of everything down there, including the come splattered on Zedaph’s belly, the nipple clamps that, given the intensity of everything else, Zedaph barely even notices at this point, and Zedaph’s fucked out expression. Zedaph almost wants to say no, two orgasms in such quick succession bringing forth a sort of bone deep exhaustion that makes him want to close his eyes where he lays spread out onto the bed, but the warmth of Doc’s length against his entrance and the lingering arousal make it a hard decision. Grian’s words don’t help.

‘Don’t you want him to come inside you, Zed?’

He hadn’t even considered that potential end result, but his hole twitches and his whole body trembles when that thought enters his mind, when it seems to take root amongst his needs and, suddenly, it’s all Zedaph can think about. All air leaves his lungs in a single, long exhale and, for a moment, Zedaph wonders if he would be able to last. A wishful part of him says that, after fucking him for a bit already, surely, Doc must be somewhat close himself, but a more realistic part, one that is sparked up by one glance at the angry red of the tip of Doc’s erection where it throbs against Zedaph, is curious if Zedaph’s own orgasms are affected by the denial he’d already been subjected to and wonders what sort of stamina Doc himself must have. Even so, Zedaph bites his lip before looking at Doc’s intense face and, after a tense moment passes between them, he nods and says:

‘I… I want your come inside me,  _ please. _ ’

Doc groans and closes his eyes, taking a long breath through his nose. Then, he is sliding himself into Zedaph again, starts moving inside him again, except even more wildly then before, grunting with each thrust, all but fucking Zedaph within an inch of his life. Zedaph lays there and takes it, his nerves screaming at him with the burn of pleasure that has Zedaph speechless for a second, Doc’s cock hitting his prostate head on and making Zedaph want to curl up in a tight, little, blubbering mess of a person, making him let out all these small, breathless  _ ah, ah, ah _ ’s that he can’t quite bite back. His body is being rocked forward with each thrust, so Zedaph reaches out with shaky hands and holds onto broad shoulders for dear life, feeling the muscle rippling just beneath his fingertips in the most tantalizing of ways. It hurts, the way pleasure slams into all of his body’s nerve endings with too much heat, it  _ hurts _ , but Zedaph wants nothing more than for Doc to fuck him as hard as he can.

And, Gods, does Doc fuck him.

‘Fuck, that’s-... D-Doc, please!’, Zedaph begs and his eyes roll back as his head is wrenched backwards by a hand that has familiarly cold fingers, which pull on his hair to the point of pain, but it feels  _ good  _ and Zedaph moans with it, instead. Doc hears him, or at least, he must hear something, because he is slowing down and Zedaph’s eyes open, but leaning above him is Grian, sitting just out of Zedaph’s own reach, looking down at him with a dark, longing gaze and a sharp smile that turns pleased as he licks his lips at the sight of Zedaph. 

At this point, Doc is barely moving inside him, more so grinding his hips down into Zedaph, but keeping his cock just off of Zedaph’s prostate so precisely that Zedaph believes it to be intentional, nearly, but the hand he has on his thigh is squeezing a handful of flesh and leaving a darkening handprint on the tanned skin.

Grian moves his head, then, when Zedaph all but stares at the hand-shaped marks on him, almost distracted by them for a second, but suddenly, he is forced to look at his friend and Grian’s smile is gone, replaced by this almost harsh sort of cruelty that Zedaph cannot place. Grian’s hand tightens in his hair.

‘So you do want him to use you until orgasm, hm?’, is the cold question Grian utters in the room that is, beside the quiet gasps and soft pants, filled with a ringing sort of silence, and Zedaph nods, unsurely, because Grian says it as if there’s more to it, as if there’s something Zedaph isn’t considering and, when the smile returns, reaching his eyes, which glisten in the low light, but look all too menacing at the same time, Grian continues, ‘Good, be a good, little whore for us.’

And he lets go of Zedaph’s hair, only to nod firmly towards Doc, before he moves to straddle Zedaph’s chest, his eyes returning to Zedaph’s face with dark glee written in his expression. Doc stops moving completely with a muffled grunt and Zedaph is pressed even more into the mattress with Grian’s weight, his vision filled with the soft and elegant lines of his clothed back, his lithe muscles moving until his cock dangles just above Zedaph’s lips, hard and dripping with precum. He only has his cock out, being the only one of them to still be somewhat dressed and, distantly, in a part of Zedaph’s brain that isn’t being sunk by the ocean of arousal that seems to be battering into all of his walls and senses, the thought that this seems fitting because, though Doc is absolutely the one moving Zedaph however he wants him, the one taking Zedaph apart with his dick, it is Grian that is in control over both of them, with a smart mouth and soft words as his only, very effective weapons, does register.

‘But I want you to please me too’, Grian finally says and he lowers his hips just so, enough for Zedaph to wrap his lips around his cock and, at first, that is exactly what he does. He places a soft kiss on the head of Grian’s member, traces the underside of it with his tongue and, when Grian’s hips twitch ever so slightly, Zedaph takes him inside his mouth. He suckles on the head and feels his pleasure spike slightly as Grian lets out a bitten off moan. For a moment, that is all they do, they simply let Zedaph twitch on both of their cocks and it messes with him a little bit. He whines around Grian’s dick and tries to coax him into moving lower with a small flick of his tongue, into filling Zedaph more, but Grian remains almost rigid where he stands on Zedaph’s chest, the only sign that Zedaph’s actions are affecting him at all being the way his thighs seem to tense up on each side of Zedaph’s torso, but what makes tears spring into his eyes as he squirms on the bed, despite the hands keeping him still, despite Grian’s body pinning him down, is how big Doc feels inside him when he isn’t moving. Zedaph’s hips stutter in an attempted thrust, but he can’t quite move them, so he is left trying to tighten his muscles around Doc, but he can’t, is being stretched to the point where all that does is make him gasp softly around Grian’s cock in his mouth and, fuck, like this, he can feel Doc so deep that it  _ aches. _

There’s a giggle above him then and Zedaph can only hope that they plan to move soon, that-

They do. 

Grian pushes in all at once, his length slipping into Zedaph’s throat unexpectedly enough that Zedaph doesn’t even have time to gag on him, just as Doc is pulling back, only the head of his erection left inside him before he thrusts in, filling Zedaph right back up.

Both of them fuck him, then, and Zedaph feels the pressure inside his body increase every time Doc brushes against his prostate, but Doc grounds him with a tighter yet grip, the sound of his body slamming into Zedaph’s almost loud enough to drown out the muffled noises Grian is letting out. He realises that Doc is kissing Grian and, for a second, Zedaph pulls off of Grian’s cock to mewl softly, before diving back in, choking himself with how deep he tries to take Grian in, reveling in the way pleasure seems to course through Grian at that, but Doc only fucks him harder once Grian begins squirming on Zedaph’s chest. His rhythm is constant and Zedaph is almost intimidated by that because he wonders how long this will go on, then, how hard he will be pushed, but another moan from Grian as Doc seemingly releases his lips pulls Zedaph out of his thoughts and, despite the way his body is being rocked into, despite how he can feel Doc all up in his fucking stomach with how much he is pushing into Zedaph, he still tries to give as best as he gets. Trembling hands move up until Zedaph can grab Grian’s arse with soft fingers that spread him just enough for a finger to brush against his hole. Grian thrusts deeper in his throat and Zedaph’s eyes squeeze shut, tears slipping down his cheeks as he tries to swallow Grian’s cock in order to keep him in, to give him whatever he can with his own body, and it seems to work. He doesn’t go farther than simply massaging Grian’s rim, but the effort is appreciated nonetheless, because Grian twists above him, just enough that they can face each other and Zedaph blinks his tears away as best as he can. Grian’s face is red and his brows are pinched up in pleasure, his mouth agape, but his  _ eyes _ , they’re still so dark and yet, the spark of something in them makes Zedaph feel boneless, makes his body soften around Doc, who just groans and slows down again, leaning forwards and burying his face in the exposed column of Grian’s neck, a flash of white teeth promptly digging into pale skin, leaving their mark both on the soft surface itself and in the sharp moan that it drags out of Grian.

Zedaph almost wants to tell him how beautiful he looks, how much he loves him, how much he loves pleasing him, but his mouth is still stuffed and there’s a choked moan that Grian laughs at before he bites his lip, before he gasps when Doc seems to bite harder into his neck, and speaks, voice wrecked as he looks down at Zedaph.

‘You’re so pretty, taking us both, taking it so well..., You’re s-so wet and tight, fuck!’

He sounds breathy and nearing his own end. Zedaph’s face scrunches up as he forces his throat to relax, as he forces himself to take Grian even deeper and, in a flash, Grian’s back arches, his body spasms and he clings to Doc’s shoulders. He comes like that, pulls out just as he does, a few drops of come landing on Zedaph’s lips, and screams, his hands wrapping around Doc’s neck, one of his hands gripping short, brown strands and pushing Doc’s face away just so he can kiss him, so he can lick into Doc’s mouth, his body wracked with shivers and his hole twitching beneath Zedaph’s gentle fingers. Zedaph pants and swallows whatever a cursory lick of his tongue can clean off of his stained lips, but then he moves his hands to Grian’s thighs, a shaky massage of trembling flesh something that makes Grian melt above him.

‘Zed...’, he whispers with a soft voice, and Zedaph only now realises, as there’s nothing else distracting him, that Doc had pulled out of him, because his own hole feels too empty, sore without anything for his muscles to clamp down on, and Grian seems to notice, because he shoots a glance at Doc, but Zedaph doesn’t mind too much. His body is still running hot, but if this is all he gets for the night, he is satisfied. He smiles up at Grian and withdraws his hands when he tries to step over Zedaph, just so that he falls into the bed next to Zedaph,  _ collapses _ being a, perhaps, more accurate descriptor, however. Doc is sitting on his haunches, watching his partner with a look that betrays their connection and Zedaph just turns on his side, his body apparently not agreeing with him pulling on all of his sores and with him moving his aching limbs, but he does so anyway, moves just enough to press a kiss to Grian’s cheek, whose eyes are now closed. A small smile spreads across his pink-cheeked face and Zedaph giggles.

There’s a second of tranquility between them before Grian moves again, sighing in content bliss and pushing his body with a quiet groan until he manages to get to his feet. Zedaph assumes they’ll clean up before sleeping, but just as he tries to follow suit and sit up too, there’s two hands on him, one Grian’s, his fingers pressing into Zedaph’s sternum and pushing him back, and one on his hip, Doc’s fingers still bruising against his skin, even if Zedaph can tell his grip is gentler than before. He is a bit confused as his back presses against Doc’s chest, as he falls into his lap, looks up at Grian with wide eyes from where he stands in front of the bed, tucking his soft dick back into his trousers, his eyes soft with the warmth of an orgasm and with something that Zedaph thinks might be affection.

‘Oh no, Zed, you’re not done yet, my dear’, Grian explains in honeyed tones and that is when something seems to click in Zedaph’s brain, because his mouth opens slightly. He thinks he can feel the tip of Doc’s firm member pressing into his back, but the realisation of what those words mean has his attention.

‘But you-’, Zedaph tries. Doc’s hands move to his waist until he can position Zedaph, until he sits just over Doc's still painfully hard looking cock, the head of it pressing against his loose rim. Grian smiles and shushes him with a finger against his lips, a thumb brushing against a plush lower lip in tantalising motions. Zedaph gulps and, though he tries to tense up when Doc’s cock twitches against him, Grian’s touch makes his body melt back into Doc instead.

‘You gave me a wonderful orgasm, my dear friend, but I think my partner isn’t quite… Pleased yet’, Grian moves in closer and whispers in Zedaph’s ear, ‘I am quite tired after our journey and I would like to wash up before resting for the night, but until I return, wouldn’t you want what I promised you earlier? I swear it to you, he’ll fill you up so nicely, Zed...’

Zedaph shivers and the hands on his waist move higher, disturbing the nipple clamps and reigniting the orgasmic pain that seems to set his chest on fire. God, he feels so exhausted, but he wants Doc to finish inside him so badly, it’s almost ridiculous, but it seems like he isn’t the only one burning up at that idea, because Doc thrusts up just enough for the head of his cock to put even more pressure against his still wet hole, which makes Zedaph’s mouth open in a startled moan. Grian’s hand moves away then and he gives them both a loving look. Zedaph wants to say something else, wants to ask about what he should do, wants the reassurance of a given command, but then Grian winks at them and wanders out the door with a drunken gait and a relaxed posture, probably heading for the bathroom. 

Once the door closes behind him, Zedaph realises that he is left alone with Doc and, while a part of him is slightly scared by not having the familiar presence of Grian with him, Zedaph is more so absolutely turned on when Doc’s attention falls on him entirely in the form of Doc pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the back of his neck, small strands of light blonde hair being nosed off to the side in a ticklish series of movements. He can feel Doc so close to him, his warm breath hitting sweat-chilled skin, his lips exploring Zedaph’s skin with surprisingly gentle kisses and his hands taking hold of the nipple clamps. Zedaph doesn’t expect him to remove them, but that is precisely what Doc does next, with a deep, low grunt of a sound. Zedaph inhales sharply at the lack of pressure against his chest and he almost wants to beg Doc to put the clamps back on because of how, oddly enough,  _ naked _ he feels without them, as if something were missing. Zedaph’s chest has always been sensitive and, if this week has taught him anything, it isn’t just pleasure he goes weak in the knees for, but a certain amount of pain as well. The complaint is stopped before it can come out, the sound of the clamps hitting the floor a warning for Zedaph before large, calloused hands cup his chest and squeeze. Blunt nails dig into his skin and pressing his body further into the touch while biting the insides of his cheeks is all Zedaph can do to keep himself from spilling on the spot, something about the roughness of the grip boiling his nerves into an overactive, electric sort of buzz. Doc chuckles, the sound almost bone chilling with its timbre, but the arousal is obvious enough that Zedaph merely winces as his cock throbs against his own stomach, as his arse tightens where he sits on Doc’s member, his hole already missing the warmth of a cock filling it up and maybe Doc finally decides to do something about that, because the chuckling stops.

‘I want to fuck you against the door’, Doc mumbles into Zedaph’s shoulderblade, then, and the hands cupping his chest run up and down his front in soothing motions, but avoid his aching dick completely, focusing on his sides, on the soft meat of his stomach, on the place where his waist dips, where his hip bones push against the skin of his back, as curved as it is. He isn’t shy with his statement, he says exactly what he wants to do and Zedaph barely keeps himself from coming at the image of being wrecked against the door, but something flares up inside him too, something a bit more panicked and a bit louder than his own arousal.

‘What if someone… W-what if someone hears us...?’, Zedaph asks, thinking of the coachman and of Grian, an embarrassed flush at the knowledge that, when he is being fucked, he finds it quite difficult to keep his noises to himself, and being taken against the door, while it definitely sounds wonderful, it makes Zedaph purse his lips and hunch his shoulders a bit, still. But Doc just shifts from behind him, raises Zedaph with him, without a care in the world, his arms flexing as he all but grabs Zedaph’s shoulders and pulls him to his feet. Zedaph looks up once they are both up, naked and still very painfully hard, and he has to turn his eyes away due to how intense Doc’s expression is. He looks like he is about to eat Zedaph alive and Zedaph knows he would let him, would revel in it and thank him for it.

‘I don’t think Grian would mind a bit of a…  _ Spectacle _ . And don’t worry about the coachman’, Doc says, crouches down slightly and, suddenly, there are hands on his thighs, prompting him to wrap his legs around Doc’s waist and Zedaph does, even if his face turns a darker shade of red as a result of the newly resulted in closeness and if his heart starts beating a frantic rhythm in his chest. Doc pulls him close enough that his dick remains trapped between their bodies, even if he can still feel the warmth of Doc’s hard on against the back of one thigh.

‘Oh…?’, Zedaph asks, but he almost wants to add something else because his voice sound too weak, even to his own ears, too soft and pleading, but Doc doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, he grins, wearing the sort of smile that makes Zedaph shiver in his arms as they start moving and, soon enough, Zedaph finds himself being slammed into the closed door, Doc’s own body pinning him there, his arms leaving Zedaph’s legs, which tighten around him even more than before, instinctively, drawing a chuckle from Doc, but he grabs Zedaph hands and holds them above Zedaph's own head in the grip of one hand. Zedaph feels helpless like this, even more so then he did before, because all Doc has to do is keep looking at him like that, red and blue eyes half-lidded, mouth set in a crooked smile and his body red with the healthy flush of arousal. Once again, he feels Doc press on the soft ring of muscles that twitches at the contact, but he still can’t move himself down, can’t get what he wants, cannot do anything except keen and close his eyes, writhing between the door and Doc’s body, for now, his tone kept more even, although he knows it won’t last.

‘The walls are thick’, is the last thing Doc whispers to him before he pushes in, slowly. It is such a contrast to how, earlier, he had simply sheathed himself all at once into Zedaph’s body, but it almost seems like he is being careful now, for some reason, even if the pressure increases with every inch of his cock that enters Zedaph. Seconds pass and Zedaph squeezes his walls around Doc’s cock as best as he can, but that same pressure from before threatens to suffocate him in this hot hell of sensation that he cannot quite escape, not when Doc’s cock pushes inside him and  _ keeps _ pushing, stretching him again, precum making the slide that much smoother, but also that much more maddening. It’s with a long sigh from Zedaph and a rumbling sound from Doc that he finally bottoms out and , Gods, Zedaph feels so full, feels so on edge,  _ again _ , and his own cock tingles with both sensitivity from his earlier orgasms and with growing heat.

‘Ready?’, Doc asks, smiling at the ridiculousness of him asking this after everything they have already done, and Zedaph smiles too, albeit his is a wetter, more shaky smile, but Doc nods and, after hardening his grip on Zedaph’s hands and resting a palm on one arse cheek, he pulls out and pushes back in without any more hesitation.

To say that the door rattles with the ferocity in Doc’s thrusts, Zedaph’s whole body jolting with them, is an understatement, but the sound is drowned out by Zedaph’s own moans, cut off though they are when Zedaph chokes on a sob as Doc finds his prostate. The fact that he doesn’t hesitate to fuck right into that spot over and over again after Zedaph’s initial, overwhelmed reaction to the pleasure it send through his body, the stream of it only seeming to increase the more Doc fucks him, confirms that, yes, he had most certainly been missing Zedaph’s most sensitive spot on purpose earlier. The climb is not slow and it is not gradual, not when Zedaph is this close again, not when his body thrums with heat and bolts of electricity that make his muscles bunch up under sweaty, lightly freckled skin, not when Doc fucks him so thoroughly, perhaps a bit slower, rhythm-wise, but he is nailing his prostate, is tightening his already iron grip on Zedaph’s hands whenever he tries to move them, is spreading his cheeks, and Zedaph feels it in his stomach when his cock begins twitching.

‘Fuck,  _ fuck _ ’, he moans out, throwing his head back against the wood of the door with a painful sounding thud, but Doc seems to find the exposed skin of his neck quite delectable, if the way he doesn’t even wait before sinking his teeth into it says anything.

The pinpricks of pain only make his dick feel that much more painful and the mere pressure of Doc moving inside him is starting to be too much, is dipping into an ocean of the sort of sweet pain that makes Zedaph’s toes curl. He crosses his legs at the ankles and tries to bring Doc closer, his thighs fighting to close around the man, only serving in making Doc give one, two painfully hard thrusts, gasping softly as he does so, his furrowed brows and closed eyes not taking away from how beautiful the man currently inside him is. Zedaph knows that Doc can fuck him harder, has felt it just earlier, but somehow, the closeness, the way his eyes seem to bore right through Zedaph’s skin when they open, it seems to work just as well as a quicker pace, because Zedaph's eyes widen and his mouth drops open around a scream, his head turning slightly to the side, just so Zedaph can partially hide his face behind his own tensing shoulder. His hands curl into fists and his hole must be painfully tight around Doc, given the howl-like groan he lets out as he keeps fucking Zedaph, despite the fact that he is literally shaking as his orgasm  _ takes him _ .

‘Good, so good, so pretty around my cock’, Doc says through gritted teeth and jumps right back into mauling Zedaph’s already bruised neck with ardour, the fire dancing across Zedaph’s skin turning hellish in the blink of an eye. He struggles against Doc, even if he doesn’t mean to, because his body feels like it is about to collapse, but Doc just subtly, wordlessly tells him to behave by way of pulling the skin of his neck between his teeth and biting until the sting of an open wound seems to almost  _ renew _ his pleasure, because it’s almost like it falls down on him all over again, crushing him with its weight. Too much, it’s  _ too much _ -

‘Please, please,  _ please _ ’, Doc hears the murmured pleas, but Zedaph himself isn’t sure if he is asking for more or if he wants Doc to stop, though his rasped out breaths do lighten significantly when Doc slows down further, pulling his teeth away from the small bite wound he’d been sucking on.

‘Can you take more, I’m gonna fucking  _ come’ _ , Doc says with a groan, looking at Zedaph in an almost worshipful way, but before Zedaph can stutter out a response, he gives a sharper thrust right against Zedaph’s prostate and Zedaph’s vision blackens around the edges as he spasms, the scream resonating in his ears so loud and so wantom that he almost doesn’t recognise his own voice. It seems to say enough though because, with an almost frustrated growl, Doc pulls out and, before Zedaph knows what is happening, he is thrown over a strong shoulder and they are moving back to the bed. Doc lays him on his hands and knees again swiftly enough, but though Zedaph might have awaited him to just push in again and seek out his own end, Doc instead just falls into the bed behind Zedaph and pants as he runs a warm palms down Zedaph’s back, stopping at his arse and cupping one of his cheeks. Zedaph feels almost self-conscious again because he it's like he is being analysed, but it gives his sore arse a small break, it gives his cock, now soft and covered in his own come, a break and that is all Zedaph can ask for.

‘Hold onto the headboard’, Doc whispers and he almost sounds gentle, but the raspy edge of his voice denotes just how close he is. Both of his hands are on Zedaph’s arse now and he kneads the flesh of it, pulling it apart to reveal his soft entrance, but Zedaph listens, as best as he can, and ignores the weakness of his arms, crawling further up the bed on shaky knees and grasping the headboard with a stuttered gasp. Doc leans over him as soon as Zedaph settles in the position he’s been directed into, his cock hot and heavy where it rests in the cleft of his cheeks, but Zedaph shudders with lingering pleasure at the mere thought of Doc going right back into fucking him, despite how much he wants him to, despite knowing that Doc is close, because the pain of oversensitivity is fading quickly, but is still flowing through his blood.

‘W-wait...’, Zedaph whispers and Doc freezes behind him, his hands releasing his cheeks as if burned, but Zedaph whimpers because of how sudden the lack of contact is. Doc pulls back ever so slightly, only to mouth at his ear and to dig his fingers into his hips instead. Zedaph takes a moment to breath and to shudder with the remnants of his earlier orgasm. His vision is still a bit blurry around the edges, but the ringing in his ears is quieting down from a roar of rushing blood to a mere background noise. He breathes in, tighterns his own grip on the headboard and exhales slowly.

‘Better now?’, Doc asks and, despite the obvious impatience behind his words, his voice is soft, barely above a rough whisper, and Zedaph leans his body more heavily into the headboard, arching his back and spreading his legs slightly. He throws Doc a look over his shoulder, his face hot and red with a bashful timidity that Zedaph cannot help. He nods but, and Zedaph. blinks as he thinks better of it, he also opens his mouth and tries to keep his voice controlled, despite its airy quality.

‘Fuck me, please. I want… I want to make you come.’

A groan echoes behind him and Zedaph braces himself against the headboard, smiling a bit at how devastated Doc sounds, but his grin is wiped clean off of his face when Doc pulls Zedaph back on his dick instead of just pushing into him. Maybe the break hadn’t been long enough, Zedaph comes to realise, because his eyes flutter shut against the onslaught of pleasure and pain he feels, all of a sudden, and he is unable to even let out a sound. He bites his lips tenses up, but when Doc starts thrusting, slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed, grunting as he does, the muscles of his poor, overworked hole seem to cling to Doc, despite how it only serves to make Zedaph more aware of the painful drag of Doc's dick against Zedaph’s walls.

‘I will, don’t worry,  _ I will. _ ’

And with that, Doc pounds into Zedaph until tears are streaming down his face, the force behind his thrusts obvious in the sound of their bodies colliding, in the way it all but makes Zedaph jolt whenever he brushes against Zedaph’s prostate and Zedaph can’t help it when he throws his head back as the pain of his dick hardening again makes him let out a pitiful whimper. It gives Doc pause, but when Zedaph nods again, it seem to flip a switch in him, because the way he starts fucking Zedaph after that is almost animalistic, hard and fast, Zedaph barely even able to  _ breathe _ through it.

The pleasure climbs and climbs and climbs, seems to burst right out of Zedaph in a series of moans and sobs of pleasure, and though it feels like it crosses some sort of threshold, Zedaph’s stomach clenching and his heart beating so hard that he fears it will break right through his chest, it makes him tremble where he stands, even if he has the support of the headboard beneath his white knuckled grip, it’s not  _ enough _ . 

‘Harder, please,  _ please _ ’, Zedaph begs between moans, his eyes rolling back, his panting barely allowing his lungs enough air and Doc complies, he pulls out of Zedaph for a second, adjusts his hips slightly and just about ruins him when he goes back in, fucking into him, the ecstasy just out of Zedaph’s reach at this point, just a flicker of additional heat away. It’s already too much and Zedaph needs more, but Gods, if Doc doesn’t fuck him right back to the edge of a fourth orgasm and Zedaph tries to let it consume him, tries to lean further into the void promised by it, but something keeps him tethered and Zedaph fucks himself back against Doc in the hopes of breaking that chain.

‘I’m going to come,  _ fuck _ ,  _ so good for me, so fucking tight _ ’, Doc groans lowly and presses Zedaph right into the headboard, crowds him against it with his thrusts, but he is losing himself, is losing his rhythm and Zedaph feels like he is losing his own mind with it, especially as one of Doc’s hands unclenches itself from Zedaph’s hip, leaving behind the cold ache of a forming bruise, only to wrap itself around Zedaph’s bobbing cock. It makes Zedaph’s sight turn white for the barest of seconds because  _ that _ , fingers squeezing him as Doc keeps grinding into Zedaph’s prostate with small thrusts, the growls he hears behind him, the heat of the moment, it all comes to a halt, it hurls whatever sanity he has left, along with his mounting orgasm, down in that dark place that drags him down and even  _ lower _ and Zedaph comes.

* * *

Zedaph thinks he hears people moving around him after he collapses into the bed, thinks he feels warm come dripping down his thighs, thinks he can see the faint light of a candle that is lit and placed somewhere to his right, but it is like his world is caught in the dark waters of sensation that Zedaph cannot get out of just yet, not when he feels so absolutely exhausted, when the bed feels so safe and warm under the heavy frame of his body. His fingers still twitch every so often, but it’s something he feels distantly, as if it were happening to a body other than his own. Zedaph sighs and goes lax against the sheets. The air of the room, given the lack of their earlier activities, is that much colder and the chill of his skin is something that slowly starts bothering him, but for now, Zedaph still ignores.

He cannot, however, ignore the feeling of something warm and damp wiping his frame and he trembles as the washcloth, or at least, Zedaph assumes it to be some sort of rag, at least, travels further down his body. His legs are pushed open and Zedaph winces, expecting the pain that would come with his thighs being moved again, though he doesn’t protest, and yet, he is surprised when the touch turns so gentle that he can barely even feel it. There’s a whisper addressed to him, but Zedaph cannot quite make sense of it in his current state, even if he leans into the hand that cups his cheek after the washcloth leaves his, now, even colder skin. 

There’s a bit more movement around him, but Zedaph keeps his eyes closed when arms pick him up and move him until he is tucked into a broad chest, large hands brushing some hair out of his face before they wrap around his waist loosely, the weight of them warm as much as it is comforting, drawing a sleepy smile from Zedaph. Doc whispers something to the other person in the room and, soon enough, there’s another warm body behind Zedaph’s own, Grian’s chest vibrating with a giggle, Zedaph assumes as he lets Grian cuddle him from behind, their legs tangling together, though Grian is mindful of Zedaph’s aching body, even as he runs a hand down Zedaph’s flank to reach the end of the bed and to retrieve a blanket, which he pulls over the three of them.

Zedaph hears himself addressing Grian just as his hand finds Zedaph’s, fingers tangling together over Zedaph’s heart:

‘I love you, Gri...’

There’s a chuckle breathed into Zedaph’s nape, but that is followed by a squeeze of his hand and an even warmer smile pressed into his skin together with a soft kiss.

‘I love you too. Now sleep, my friend.’

And Zedaph does, all of his aches and pains and sore muscles forgotten, lost to the world of sleep that envelops Zedaph like Doc and Grian’s warm embrace, even if his mind goes dark as sleep takes him.

  
  


* * *

They spend the better part of the morning in bed, well, Zedaph does, at least. Preparations are being made all around him, but Zedaph feels like if he loses focus for a single second, he might get a very unexpected, very unpleasant face full-full of porridge. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the breakfast he is being served, it  _ is _ tasty, but Zedaph wonders if he should have maybe skipped it in favour of a few more hours of sleep, despite Doc insisting that food is what he’d need to regain his energy.

Distantly, Zedaph knows he is right, but that doesn’t mean that the table looks any less like a particularly comfortable pillow right now. Even so, Zedaph manages to shove another spoon of porridge in his mouth and, after at least half the bowl is gone, he bows out. Grian had told him to get dressed after eating and he knows that it would be best to just get it done with, but the moment Zedaph enters the bedroom again, despite the outfit laid out for him on the bed, he merely collapses face first into the bed. 

The sound of humming from downstairs is somewhat muffled, but he can still hear it. Doc has the sort of voice that resonates, that shakes the walls with its timbre, almost, and Zedaph closes his eyes. Grian is probably waiting on him already, but he can’t help it. With the soft, low melody, with the way his…  _ Everything _ aches, it is near impossible for Zedaph to just get back up right now, because he knows that sleep will evade him at first once they get back into the carriage and he cannot get himself to get rid of this cozy, soft sort of sleepiness just yet.

Zedaph doesn’t fall asleep, he fights himself not to, but he rests his body for a little bit. Some of the hickeys decorating his neck pull a bit when he moves his head to the side to eye the clothes he’s supposed to be putting on right now and Zedaph had already found it challenging enough to sit on a chair at breakfast, how he’ll be able to handle a carriage ride back home, he isn’t quite sure, but one thing is for sure, at least. He smiles softly and closes his eyes.

There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the memory of this entire week, even the shakier parts of it, but something twinges in his heart when he realises that he is going home. Zedaph raises himself up, slowly, and picks up the tunic on the bed with gentle fingers. Today, maybe, if the weather is good, is also the day Tango and Impulse will be back and the way his heartbeat skyrockets at that is not something Zedaph can do anything except smile against. He simply cannot wait to hug them both again, to kiss them and to just  _ be _ with them again. 

_ He is going home _ .

* * *

The trip to Zedaph’s home is much shorter than the one to Doc’s had been, but Grian doesn’t see that as a problem. Doc had helped carry a half asleep Zedaph into the carriage, his arms gentle around his friend and, after a goodbye kiss and a promise to see each other again soon that Doc had raised a knowing eyebrow at, they were off.

Actual sleep had seemed to evade Zedaph with the daylight flooding in through the windows, muffled though it had been by the much lighter snow fall that didn’t quite darken the sky like the blizzard from yesterday had, so Grian enjoyed a bit of small talk with him. Grian himself still felt a bit tired as well, so of course their topics were as delirious as they themselves both were, but Grian cannot say that he didn’t enjoy just talking to Zedaph with soft tones and whispered giggles. He thinks about how much he’s missed this and how he’ll miss it again after he leaves, but his heart isn’t heavy when Zedaph’s own home comes into view, no, it is light with affection and the knowledge that, between the two of them, though things may have developed slightly, their friendship is only stronger because of it, it's base unchanged.   
With his chest of things and an extra basket of jam jars given to him as a gift from Doc, Zedaph waves at the carriage, at Grian, with this bright smile, one that is filled with joy and that just makes Grian himself feel more at ease. They start moving again and the carriage feels a little bit bigger, a little bit emptier now that Grian is the only one left in it, but after a last look behind him, two other people standing in the doorway in front of Zedaph, basically throwing themselves at his poor friend and swarming him in hugs and kisses, Grian smiles and sighs with a calm relief.

Impulse and Tango are good people, Grian thinks to himself as the carriage move further and further away from the little house tucked into a small corner of the forest, he’s never pursued them romantically, has never had the desire to, but he knows them and he knows Zedaph and he knows they’ll take care of him, of each other. Grian can only wonder how long it will be until he receives a wedding invitation, if they decide to have on in the future, but he can rest easily for now. He knows his friend is in safe hands.

As for himself, and Grian smirks a little bit, propping a foot up against the other bench on the opposite side of the carriage. He has a few, precious free days in front of him that he would like to just spend relaxing and taking it easy, for once. He has a few partners he’d like to visit and the thought of them has his heart growing ever fonder, so Grian just closes his eyes and lets himself breathe. The snow outside his window is still, gently, drifting down, a peaceful dance of white blurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand, with that, this work is officially complete. I'm not gonna lie, the ending might have worked better, had I added another more detailed, in the moment scene, but I felt like the slightly more open finale might suit this work better.  
> I will say, I hadn't expect this project to become as big as it has, seeing as it just started with me wondering if I could explore the Grian & Zed dynamic from the previous work in the series in a different light, but then I had some ideas. The themes were also something that I don't see being explored very often, and though they are portrayed very subjectively, I feel like it has been interesting to try and fit them into the narrative.  
> As you may have noticed, my works have gone from purely smut to gaining more and more context lately, to being a lot more detailed and I do have moments when I wonder if it works at all, if it is enjoyable to consume, because let me tell you, it is a test of willpower to write, for sure. I have wondered if I should maybe get away from describing all of the feels and everything and I very much still have a very big question mark surrounding the current quality of my writing and what I might be able to do to improve it, but I am very glad that you all have stuck around.  
> You all have chosen to read this, to leave kudos and to comment and I cannot even beging to say how important that is to me, how much it means to me. I don't have the best track record regarding positive feelings about my own works, but to see that you have enjoyed it brings me immense happiness and I am so glad to be able to provide this for you ^-^  
> I will say, there are things I could have done better with this sequel, things that I find a bit untasteful, whether in regards to the plot, the characterisation or the writing itself, but I _am_ happy that I managed to finish this in the time I have been away.  
> As for future works, I still plan to write a lot more Zed content when I have the time because I love him and he is my muse and wrecking him is... It brings me immense joy, let's say, but I's also got some other content in the works that you might also enjoy ;)  
> As school starts very soon, I might be a bit sparse once again, but I love you and l shall keep slowly chipping away at my WIPs but, until next time, byebye!

**Author's Note:**

> Versatile Zed wreckage is what this is, hehe.


End file.
